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monaboyd May. 9th, 2006 07:30 am)
dylan-dufresne.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd May. 9th, 2006 07:30 am)Title: Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports - 7/16
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R, maybe.
Summary: Dr. Boyd gets distracted and then makes Dom a surprising offer.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks tofrojane, for the beta. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much.
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: I really enjoyed this chapter. It was fun to play with. Damn it feels good to be back. :) Thank you so much for all your lovely comments. *loves*
Previous Parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 7 - A Promise Broken & A Promise Kept
“Ah, peace at last,” Dom sighs happily as he sinks down onto Billy’s aging, living room couch. Linking his fingers behind his head, Dom leans back against the soft, navy blue material as he lets his eyes close to soak in the blissful silence.
“If peace and quiet was what you were seeking tonight, you’ve got a strange way of showing it,” Billy points out.
Dom cracks open one eye to study Billy. “You sure know how to get to the heart of the matter, don’t you, Dr. Boyd?”
Then Dom surprises Billy by suddenly sitting up straight and eyeing Billy with a certain amount of criticism. “Don’t you ever have any self-doubts? Or are you so self confident about your abilities you can’t imagine being like the rest of us poor bastards?”
Staring down at Dom, Billy wonders where Dom has gotten that mistaken impression. Could he possibly come off so cold, so unfeeling? Self-doubts? Bloody Hell, his life is filled with them, but they’re far too personal, go too deep and hurt much too painfully to share with anyone, especially Dom, who has demonstrated all too clearly that depth isn’t what he’s looking for in a lover. Quite the opposite, actually.
Dom sighs again, but this time it lacks the pleasing note it had a moment earlier. “So, do you have anything to drink around here?”
“I’ve got coffee or tea,” Billy offers. “I’m out of whiskey, but if you’d like something a little stronger, I’ve got a bottle of brandy that managed to survive the move. Or if you prefer, I think there might be some of Cameron’s apple juice in the fridge as well.”
“Brandy would be really nice,” Dom agrees with a slow, thoughtful nod. “The adrenaline from the match is starting to wear off and I think I need an analgesic.”
Concerned, Billy steps closer. “Is your knee hurting?”
Smiling ruefully, Dom shakes his head. “Billy, my entire body feels like it’s been run over by a truck. At least twice.”
Opening his mouth to tell Dom that perhaps he should consider quitting, if this is all the reward he receives, Billy decides to hold his tongue instead, knowing that when they have the conversation, he stands a better chance of making Dom listen to reason when he’s not so completely knackered. Lines he’s never noticed before are etched into Dom’s tanned face, and Billy experiences the inexplicable urge to reach out and stroke them with his fingertips, or even kiss them away. There is a flash of an image of Dom stretched out beneath Billy, crying out in wanton ecstasy as Billy overwhelms him with pleasure, and then it is gone.
“I’ll get the brandy,” Billy says softly, his voice a wee bit unsteady.
Nodding, Dom closes his eyes again and leans his head against the back of the couch. Sexy. Despite Billy’s often irritatingly professional demeanor, the man is undeniably sexy. And soft. Christ, how incredibly soft Billy’s hair is, and his sweet, pale skin. Fantasizing about holding Billy in his arms, rolling around in bed, bringing their bodies together in wild abandon, Dom drifts off into oblivion.
“Here you are.”
As Billy sits down beside him, his soothing voice shattering the stillness, Dom’s blue-grey eyes fly open, and Billy gets the distinct impression that Dom was actually sleeping.
“You should be in bed,” Billy scolds gently, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
The heat of the erotic fantasy is still surging through Dom’s veins as he accepts the glass of alcohol. “I agree completely. We should be in bed. Lead the way.”
Fighting the response to Dom’s seductively crooned suggestion deep within, even as his arousal aches at the idea, Billy firmly replies, “You promised, Dom.”
Give it time, Dom warns himself. Just a wee bit more time. Billy’s pupils are wide and dark, his green eyes giving away his deepest secrets as they smolder with a lingering heat that he cannot hide. Dom manages a casual, yet admittedly regretful tone.
“So I did, Billy. So I did.” Nodding reluctantly, Dom wraps his fingers around the tumbler of brandy, feeling the warmth from Billy’s hand. “Thank you, for this.”
Watching Dom lift the glass to his mouth and part his lips, Billy receives a definite jolt. Must absolutely everything about this man have to affect him so erotically? It’s lunacy to be sitting here, so close to Dom, the lights low, the stillness of the house in direct contrast to the craziness next door making the mood seem all the more intimate. It almost feels like a deliberate setup for a seduction on my part, Billy realizes. How must it look to Dom, but exactly that?
As the bracing liquid clears his mind, Dom tries to remind himself that he is a civilized man. He can’t give in to instinct and beg Billy to ravish him right here and now, just like that night in the kitchen, nor can he nibble on that ridiculously enticing neck. Cursing the pledge he’d made, although he knows that if he hadn’t, Dom knows for certain that Billy wouldn’t have allowed Dom to be sitting here at the moment otherwise. Dom wants Billy - Fuck, how he wants Billy - more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his whole bloody life. Dom’s trying to tell himself that it’s to cap off the day in style, to achieve a victory on all fronts, but something in that explanation is ringing false.
Truthfully, Billy’s been driving Dom crazy since the beginning, infiltrating his thoughts, disturbing his sleep with erotic fantasizes. Nearly every day in the last month, when he’s supposed to be concentrating on football, Dom keeps seeing Billy’s face in his mind’s eye. Over and over, Billy appears to him in a myriad of ways and images, constantly changing, like a kaleidoscope. Who the bloody hell is Dr. Billy Boyd, Dom wonders. And what is he doing to Dom’s mind? To his life?
“I enjoyed the match today,” Billy murmurs into the deep silence, running his finger along the rim of his glass.
“I’m glad,” Dom replies quietly. “I’m also very glad you came. Honestly, I wasn’t sure that you would.”
“I couldn’t very well let Cameron down, now could I?” Billy explains, struggling to keep his voice calm and nonchalant. “He was so excited when you gave him the tickets.”
How the bloody hell can Billy tell Dom that it would’ve been impossible to stay away from the match because Billy’s already discovered that it’s an impossibility to stay away from Dom? These weeks apart have been so difficult, and it doesn’t appear to be getting any easier to bear.
“Of course not,” Dom agrees tersely, his body tensing. “We have to let him down gently, don’t we? ”
So that’s all it is. A paternal duty. The very idea makes Dom feel like a bloody fool for the rush of pleasure he’d experienced when he’d seen Billy in the stands, before and after the match. Once again, he’s been a royal git. It’s clearly been easy for Billy to keep his distance this past month, as Dom’s never seen him one time without a well thought out and legitimate reason accompanying him.
“That’s the kindest way,” Billy offers gently. “Protecting Cameron from things that could hurt him is my first priority. This is the way it has to be.”
“I suppose you know best,” Dom admits with a barely restrained, heavy sigh. “You are his father.”
“Aye, I do,” Billy confirms with a sharp nod. “And I am.”
Billy’s firm expression includes more than his decision about his son’s relationship with Dominic Monaghan. Even more important is the fact that he’s not going to get involved with Dom. It cannot happen, under any circumstances. It just can’t.
Sure, taunts the little voice of reason deep inside Billy, poking at him insistently. That’s why you’re just sitting inches apart in a dimly lit room, sipping brandy with him.
Finally, Dom can no longer stand to be this close to Billy without touching him; every atom in his body is screaming with anticipation. Feeling like a teenager on his first date, Dom carefully lifts an arm and slides it along Billy’s shoulders, not missing the sharp intake of breath as his long fingers wrap lightly around Billy’s bicep. He also takes note, with a suppressed smile, that Billy doesn’t protest, verbally or otherwise.
“What did you yell at that player today?” Billy asks blankly, trying to concentrate on something, anything, besides the soothing warmth of Dom’s exhilarating touch on his body.
Taking a sip of his brandy, Dom eyes Billy curiously. “Which one?”
“The big one,” Billy manages to answer as Dom’s long, elegant fingers play havoc with their gentle, rhythmic strokes, almost burning through the sleeve of his shirt.
That earns Billy a small smile and a brief chuckle. “Billy, most football players are rather big,” Dom replies. “Could you be a wee bit more specific?”
Christ, Dom agonizes, Billy’s skin is so perfectly fragrant, so breathtakingly soft. How can Billy honestly expect him to keep his mind on football? For the very first time in his life, Dom wishes he’d never heard of the game.
As the dangerously seductive hand moves down his arm, Billy feels as if Dom’s taken a lighter to his skin, scorching him. Drawing in a deep breath, Billy makes a serious attempt to focus on the conversation.
“The one who kept blocking your passes, before you finally scored the first goal.”
Watching Billy’s chest rise and fall with his now uneven breathing, Dom eyes feast hungrily on the narrow V of gingery chest hair made visible by Billy’s partially unbuttoned shirt, and has to grip his tumbler of brandy to prevent himself from reaching out and running his fingers through the softness.
Dom’s dark and smoldering eyes flame with fire as their gazes meet and hold for endless moments. “Oh, him,” Dom says finally, in a low voice. “I told him to get out of my way.”
“Oh,” Billy whispers, engulfed by the intense heat directed his way, feeding the fire in his belly. “But I saw him yell back. What did he say?”
“You have the loveliest mouth, Billy,” Dom murmurs, dropping his gaze from Billy’s eyes to his lips. “What do you call it, a Cupid’s Bow?”
“Something l-like that,” Billy stammers softly, swallowing hard. “What did he say?”
“It just begs to be kissed.” Dom’s head moves a little closer, breath caressing Billy’s cheek as his fingers tighten perceptibly on Billy’s arm.
“I don’t believe he said that,” Billy argues weakly, entranced as Dom’s blonde head draws nearer. Lips part in anticipation as Dom takes the glass of brandy from Billy’s visibly trembling hand and sets it down on the coffee table in front of them with a slow, deliberate motion. The movement is done entirely by touch, as at no time do Dom’s eyes leave Billy’s mouth.
“You’re right. That’s not what he said,” Dom says in a low, raspy voice, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his own lips. “He warned me that the next time I tried to get past him, he’d dig the cross out, it would end up offside, and we’d lose the ball. So I surprised everybody, risked going offside until I could get past him and then scored it myself, just to piss him off. . . Would I be breaking the rules if I kissed you?”
“Yes.” It’s not a very assertive whisper.
“Then you’re going to have to call a flag, Billy, because I’m about to break the rules.”
Groaning under his breath, Dom finally bridges the distance, his whimpering sigh of satisfaction filling Billy’s sweet mouth. Unlike that night in the kitchen, there is no hint of urgency in Dom’s manner; it’s as if they both surpass the conventional realm of time and space as Dom tastes Billy’s soft, cherubic lips at his leisure.
How amazing it is, that a man who makes his living in a sometimes brutal fashion can be so gentle, so tender, Billy thinks through the fog of desire clouding his mind. Dom’s warm lips are gently caressing his, teasing, coaxing, warming his skin with heat that spreads through his body in escalating waves.
Billy tells himself that this is madness, complete and utter insanity. The Dominic Monaghan that led his team to victory this afternoon has undoubtedly celebrated this way after winning matches since he was a teen. By allowing this behavior, Billy is permitting himself to be nothing but a long established tradition. A reward for a match well played. Even as Billy tells himself this, the persuasive, sensual kiss is sending a delicious whisper of pleasure up and down the bones of his spine, causing them to melt like wax. Soon, Billy promises his practical self. Soon he will end this glorious embrace, but, Christ, how he wants it to go on for just a wee bit longer.
The tip of Dom’s obscenely long tongue slides along the curve of Billy’s upper lip, stroking with little intoxicating movements, bringing every inch of the rosy flesh to tingling awareness. When Dom’s teeth capture the thrusting curve of Billy’s lower lip, Billy tries to remember that what is sheer ecstasy for him is only a victory ritual for Dom.
“Dom, please,” Billy whispers hoarsely against his lips, hands clutching desperately at Dom’s biceps.
Dom’s warm, wet tongue soothes where Billy’s teeth have darkened his skin in an attempt to muffle his moans of pleasure. “Please yes?” he inquires in a husky, uneven note. “Or please no?”
Unable to answer, Billy closes his eyes, as well as his mind to the tormenting voice of reason as Dom’s tongue insinuates itself between his ravished lips, flicking like a finger of flame against the sensitized skin within.
Bodies press together from nose to knees as their mouths meet in desperate hunger, and Billy is shocked by the extent of his passion as he firmly pulls Dom into his embrace. Wherever Dom’s roaming hands touch Billy, his skin comes alive, the blood beneath infusing with a thick warmth, like heated honey. Billy’s lips move against Dom’s, murmuring inarticulate words that cause Dom’s own passion to escalate rapidly, to a point just short of explosion. Mouth falling open in welcome invitation to Billy’s wet, pointy tongue, Dom shifts quickly, stretching out on the couch and pulling Billy forward until he’s laying on top of him. Settling into a comfortable position, Billy’s left thigh presses between Dom’s, their rapidly stiffening erections finding much needed contact and friction.
Feeling Billy tremble and sigh ever so softly as one warm hand slips under Billy’s shirt in order to explore his firm and toned back, Dom’s other hand reaches between their bodies, opening all of the buttons of Billy’s shirt with one, sharp tug. Drawing the material off Billy’s shoulders and tossing the shirt to the floor, everything feels so good, so right. Perfect. Natural. When Dom’s long fingers find and begin teasing Billy’s right nipple, the sensitive nerve endings tighten and swell with arousal, causing Billy to gasp and then rock his hips as he thrusts his tongue deeper into Dom’s mouth.
As Billy’s fingers tangle deftly in Dom’s tousled, bleach blonde hair, holding him firmly as their tongues tangle passionately, it suddenly flashes through Dom’s mind that today, he’s proven to everyone that they’d written Dominic Monaghan’s obituary prematurely. There’d been no sign of his injury when he’d surprised everyone and scored the first goal himself. The fans had dropped their objections, lining up behind him once again, because they can recognize a winner. After nearly a year, Dom has his life back on track. Everything is as it should be, including a sexy, Scottish man to make his victory even sweeter.
Even as he thinks all that, Dom realizes that his hands are inexplicably shaking, his body trembling. He’s in serious danger of completely losing control, which makes no sense to his troubled mind. This is his victory, he should be relaxed and perhaps even calm. Not that he told Billy, but he’d had every intention of ending up in Billy’s bed tonight, finishing what they started over a month ago in the kitchen. Thinking further, Dom is stunned by the fact that merely kissing Billy, simply touching Billy’s bare skin, is driving him to the ragged edge of sanity.
Left leg wrapped around Billy’s hip, Dom slides his long, elegant fingers down the shallow groove of Billy’s spine, relishing in the sensation of the warm, aroused flesh. Lips parting and coming back together wetly, Billy’s tongue tasting every last inch of Dom’s sweet mouth, Dom is helpless to do anything except hold on and enjoy the ride. Fingers pausing at the waistband of Billy’s jeans, Dom can’t stop himself from exploring lower, sliding his hand down even further, gasping in surprise when he finds bare skin instead of the expected boxers or pants. Cupping the round curve and squeezing in a tantalizing rhythm, Dom moans loudly and wantonly thrusts up into Billy’s hips, longing for more. Longing for Billy to be buried deep inside him.
The fact is, Dominic Monaghan makes love like he plays football, with a practiced skill that makes every movement seem inordinately natural and unrehearsed. Thanks to his huge success as a football player, he’s had plenty of opportunities over the years to perfect his technique. Yet as his fingers fumble desperately with the zipper on Billy’s jeans, the reason why this is a physical act, one that Dom has performed so many times before in his lifetime, should suddenly seem so new, so different, eludes his understanding. Before Dom can dwell on the thought any further, Billy breaks the kiss and wraps his fingers around Dom’s searching hand.
“Dom, we can’t.”
While Billy freely admits to himself that part of him is crying out for Dom’s exquisite lovemaking, something equally as strong insists on caution. Billy has no idea what is happening between them, but instinct tells him that they are plunging into something far more entangling than a casual love affair. And it’s all happening too fast. They haven’t so much as touched, aside from professional examinations, for over a month, and now Billy’s half naked, kissing and dry humping Dom to the edge of orgasm on his living room couch.
“Of course we can,” Dom replies, his mouth swallowing Billy’s weak protest as his teasing touch creates further havoc within every fibre of Billy’s being. “You can’t deny you want me as badly as I want you. Stop fighting me and just let it happen.”
Small palms frame Dom’s tanned face, and smoky green eyes speak volumes. “Of course I want you, Dom,” Billy admits. “I think that’s very clear, but we can’t always have everything we want. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
Dom is appalled at the intense flash of desperation that sears through him as Billy pushes up and off of him, sitting on the couch and leaning down to scoop up his discarded shirt from the floor. Drawing on the material and buttoning it, Billy quickly covers up his gloriously creamy skin and furry chest.
“Maybe we can’t always have what we want, but we can bloody well try,” Dom argues, sitting up and surreptitiously rubbing the heel of his hand into his lap, in desperate need of friction.
“We can try a little patience, too,” Billy retorts, moving away to the other end of the couch, needing some distance in order to clear the lust from his head.
Billy knows that his behavior can easily be considered irrational, dangerous, most definitely conflicting and almost taunting. He’s a grown man with a child, he knows better than to allow things to get out of control like this. He doesn’t mean to be a tease; it’s just so difficult to resist Dom. The obvious anxiety and flash of guilt in Billy’s eyes only serves to irritate Dom further.
“Patience is an overrated virtue. Dammit, Billy, this is ridiculous!” Dom blurts out in frustration. “I want you. You want me. We’re both adults, so what’s the matter?”
Desperately, Billy wishes he knew. “I never meant for this to happen,” he says softly. “For things to get so out of hand. Not again. Not tonight.”
“Like that night in the kitchen,” Dom says quietly, almost gently.
“Yes.”
“Well, I did,” Dom admits, rising from the couch abruptly. Retrieving his tumbler of brandy from the coffee table, Dom swallows the liquid in a long, thirsty gulp, enjoying the burn down his throat.
“But you promised,” Billy reminds him softly. “We were only going to talk.”
Dom shrugs, trying for casual nonchalance. “Surprise. I lied.”
“Oh.”
Reaching out with trembling hands, Billy leans forward and picks up his own glass. Eyeing Dom thoughtfully, Billy sips the comforting brandy, taking in his rigid stance, realizing that every muscle in Dom’s body seems horribly stiff and tense. Rather pointedly, Billy doesn’t let his gaze linger on Dom’s tented jeans that are showcasing his obvious arousal.
“You do that very well,” Billy murmurs finally, the fire in his belly refusing to be extinguished.
“Which are you talking about? Sex?” Dom asks, glancing at his now empty glass and wishing it contained more alcohol. “Or lying?”
“Both, I guess.”
Turning abruptly, Dom walks over to the desk in the corner, where Billy had left the bottle of brandy. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he says, refilling his glass. When he turns back, Dom’s eyes are filled with a glittering, seductive warning. “I’m not giving up, you know.”
Meeting Dom’s frank gaze with assumed tranquility, Billy trembles internally, his heart still racing. “Hasn’t anyone ever turned you down, Dom?”
Leaning back against the desk and crossing his long legs at the ankle, Dom arches an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I think this just might be a first for the infamous star football player,” Billy decides, eyeing Dom thoughtfully, the tip of his finger tracing the rim of his glass.
Smiling sardonically, Dom shakes his head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Billy. All you’ve done is postpone the inevitable. It’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of time.”
“With delusions of grandeur like that, I think you need a psychiatrist a lot more than you do a sports doctor,” Billy shoots back heatedly, detesting Dom’s casual arrogance.
Watching the spark of fury darken Billy’s green eyes, Dom is reminded what a passionate man Billy is. Sex with Billy is going to be like trying to tame an erupting volcano. Then again, Dom’s not so sure he wants Billy tame. The temptation to allow himself to be consumed by the heat is almost overwhelming.
“Wrong,” Dom says, grinning maddeningly, infuriating Billy further. “I know one particular sports doctor I need a great deal.” Coming towards Billy slowly, Dom’s desirous gaze is riveted to his face and their eyes war for a long, silent moment. While Billy’s eyes are dark and stormy, Dom’s glitter dangerously, the sexual tension in the room palpable.
“Somebody really ought to tell you that you’re not irresistible,” Billy says in a low voice, silently hoping that Dom can’t hear the wavering he feels inside.
Quirking an eyebrow, Dom maintains his bland smile. “ Don’t you find me even moderately irresistible?”
“Hardly,” Billy snorts, rolling his eyes as he sets his glass of brandy back down on the table in front of him.
Irrationally, Billy waits to be struck down by a bolt of lightening for telling such an outrageous lie, while his face is the picture of control.
Billy’s haughty tone causes Dom’s own temper to flare, but Dom fights hard to control it. He does, however, give in to primitive instinct as he slams his glass down on the coffee table before pulling Billy abruptly off the couch and into his arms.
“Prove it,” Dom growls, their lips mere inches apart.
Trying to pull away, Billy stills when one of Dom’s hands gently cups the back of his head.
“Dom,” Billy protests, palms pressing firmly against Dom’s strong, warm chest. “Let me go.”
“I said, prove it,” Dom repeats in a low voice, his long fingers carefully tightening in Billy’s ginger hair, nails scritching lightly at his scalp.
Reading the frustration, lust and desire in Dom’s stormy blue-grey eyes, Billy fights against the thrill of excitement created by Dom’s hard, tense body pressed so intimately against his. Dom feels Billy’s slight tremor, and guided by some inner compulsion, he finds his world centered for a dangerous, suspended time on this one man. How much Billy wants to say yes, and just fall into Dom, but he just can’t. As they stare at one another, both Dom and Billy are overwhelmingly shaken, but neither wants to be the one to admit it.
Finally blinking to break the spell, Dom speaks first, his voice low and hoarse. “Next time you won’t say no.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Billy protests softly.
Tracing the bow-shaped curve of Billy’s mouth with the tip of his finger, Dom smiles. “Oh yes, my sexy, desirable Scot, there will definitely be a next time, as well as several after that, I’m willing to bet. I fully intend to make love to you every time these ridiculously seductive lips get within kissing distance.” Then silently, Dom adds, having satisfied his curiosity and desire, he can get on with rebuilding his life.
Stepping back, Dom eyes Billy thoughtfully. “Good night,” he says before turning to walk back to his own house and a party that had been a bloody lousy idea to begin with. With some luck, David will be up to distracting Dom, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always alcohol, and lots of it.
Billy’s discerning eyes have not missed Dom’s increasingly pronounced limp and suppressed grimaces of pain. The physician in Billy surfaces, coming to the rescue of the aroused and sexually frustrated man before him.
“Would you like the massage I promised you that first night?” Billy inquires calmly, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
Looking back over his shoulder with wide eyes, Dom’s answering expression is incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Suspiciously, Dom’s eyes narrow. “What kind of massage are we talking about here?”
Billy has to smile at that, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Don’t worry, Dom, I’m not going to attack you. We’ve got Dr. Boyd back now, and he’s a take charge bloke, remember?”
Remaining silent, Dom neglects to mention that he’s been having trouble with that one, too. In fact, he hasn’t found one aspect of Billy that doesn’t intrigue him, make him want to know Billy better.
“Well?” Billy prompts, arching an eyebrow as he waits for Dom’s answer.
Dom weighs his options. There are any number of beautiful, willing women next door. There is a chance that this night doesn’t have to be a total loss. Dom then frowns as he realizes he only wants Billy. He doesn’t want to dilute Billy’s taste or touch, diminish the seductive feel of Billy’s firm, toned body with any other comparison.
Damn him, Dom considers with a fresh burst of irritation. Billy’s infiltrated his system like a drug and as much as he wants to walk away, Dom finds that he can’t.
“Actually, I think I would like that massage,” he answers finally. “After all these years, I thought I was well acquainted with every bone and muscle in my body, but I discovered a few new ones today.”
“I’ll get the lotion,” Billy says before turning away and starting to walk towards the hallway.
“Billy?”
“Yes, Dom?” Billy replies, pausing to look over his shoulder.
Brow furrowed in thought, Dom shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Are you sure?”
Billy meets Dom’s questioning gaze with a level one of his own. “Don’t worry, Dom. I’ve yet to attack one of my patients.” His tone is dry and Dom doesn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed by the way Billy seems to have recovered his compose so effortlessly. “You’re safe enough.”
Watching Billy escape the room as he starts to strip down, Dom realizes that Billy can’t begin to understand how false a statement that is. Dom is fast discovering that Billy is the quite easily, the most dangerous man he’s ever met. Tempted to stretch out on his back, in all his naked glory, Dom decides that Billy may rescind his offer of a massage if he walks back into the room and finds Dom completely starkers. Instead, Dom settles on the couch on his stomach, a blanket pulled down from the back of the couch and arranged carefully to shield his nudity.
In the loo, Billy leans against the basin as he splashes cold water on his face, gathering up his scattered senses and ordering his heart to stop pounding. Then Billy tries a variety of expressions in the mirror until he finds one to his liking. There. That looks far more self-confident that I feel.
“My God,” Billy breathes softly as he returns to the living room. “You look absolutely terrible.”
“Now I know why you’re not worried about a naked bloke lying on your couch. A couple more of those ego boosters and I won’t be able to do anything anyway,” Dom grumbles as he looks up to meet Billy’s stricken gaze.
Frowning, Billy eyes a darkening bruise in the middle of Dom’s back with deep concern. “This isn’t funny, Dom. You look like a side of beef.”
Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Dom shrugs indifferently. “They’ll fade. They always do.”
Crouching down and reaching over, Billy traces the stud scar just under Dom’s jaw line. “Always?” he inquires softly, arching an argumentative eyebrow.
“Usually,” Dom concedes. “That’s just a reminder to move fast and watch out for flying feet.”
Billy worried gaze then drops to Dom’s knee. “You don’t have much mobility these days, Dom,” he argues. “How are going to avoid all the dangers for the rest of the season?”
“One match at a time, I suppose,” Dom replies, disliking this subject intensely. “The same way I always have. What other choice do I have? I want to play.”
Perching on the edge of the couch at Dom’s hip, Billy frowns at the thick blanket covering Dom.
“Why are you using this?” he asks, pulling the soft material away. “I’ve got a towel here. I don’t want to get lotion on-”
When Dom’s bare arse comes into view, Billy abruptly stops talking, quickly covering the exposed flesh with the towel he brought from the loo. The simmering fire in Billy’s belly has been doused in gasoline, and Billy has to close his hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out to eagerly caress the the sweet curve of tantalizing flesh. Swallowing hard and biting down on his lower lip, Billy fights for control.
“You could’ve warned me,” Billy finally says once the towel is shielding Dom’s nudity and the blanket is folded back up again, laying in its rightful place over the back of the couch.
“I covered up,” Dom replies mildly, smiling with satisfaction as he rests his chin on his folded arms. “It’s not my fault you looked.”
“One match at a time,” Billy repeats, getting back to the previous subject and hoping that the heat in his cheeks will dissipate quickly. “And after the season’s over?”
Expelling a deep, heavy sigh, Dom turns his head to one side and lays down, using his arms as a makeshift pillow. “Then I spend the off season working out, building my knee up some more.”
“If it isn’t completely destroyed,” Billy mutters quietly under his breath, rubbing some lotion between his small hands to warm it.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” Dom invites.
As Billy’s hand spread over Dom’s lean back, he can feel the tension in each and every muscle. Dom is clearly very sore, tired, and has ridden an emotional roller coaster all afternoon. This is definitely not the time to bring it up.
“And after the summer?” Billy forces himself to ask casually, breath catching as he observes the contrast between his pale hands and Dom’s tanned back. Simply put, the view is intoxicating and arousing.
“Then there’s next season,” Dom states matter of factly.
“I see,” Billy replies, keeping his tone completely neutral. “And you plan to play next season?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Dom meets Billy’s eyes for a brief moment. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Billy repeats softly, having suspected the answer before he asked the question. Exhaling quietly, Billy slides his palms in long, flowing strokes over Dom’s back with gentle, even pressure.
“Bloody hell, you have nice hands,” Dom murmurs with a low groan, his mind beginning to float comfortably on a bed of puffy, white clouds.
“Thank you,” Billy answers with a small smile. “And you have very tense muscles.”
“That’s the name of the game, isn’t it?”
“If you’re going to be football’s old man, Dom, you’re going to have to learn to take better care of this body,” Billy retorts firmly, yet quietly.
“Hey,” Dom complains with a wince, trying to shift a wee bit as Billy begins kneading some swollen muscle tissue. “I’m in pretty good shape, better than some of the rookies. I’ll have you know that on the first day of the pre-season I had a 3.25 body fat ratio. The lowest on the team.”
Of that, Billy has no doubt. Dom’s all lean muscle and strong sinew, but he’s not a machine. Sadly, Billy wonders when Dom is going to realize that for himself.
“You should’ve had this massage hours ago, instead of letting your muscles swell up like this,” Billy scolds, pressing down harder, wringing out Dom’s tense muscles with an almost relentless kneading, rolling motion, knowing that it’ll bring Dom some much needed relief.
“Ah, but I couldn’t find anyone at the party who has such great hands,” Dom teases, chuckling under his breath, causing his body to vibrate.
Billy can’t help himself. He pinches Dom. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Pardon me,” Billy says sweetly, with mock innocence. “Speaking of that party, is this going to be a regular occurrence? Monthly, perhaps? Is there a schedule? I’d like to book Cameron’s and my hotel room in advance next time.”
“Would you believe that’s the last one of the season for me to host?” Dom asks, almost sheepishly.
Seeking to breaking up the muscle knots constricting Dom’s blood vessels, Billy’s fingertips move in deep, slow circular movements, listening to Dom sigh almost breathlessly. “Really?”
Turning his head, Dom looks up at Billy, his expression serious. “Really. I’ve always hated them, which is why I quit going to them years ago. Until . . . “ Dom’s voice drops off, not wanting to say the words, and Billy feels him shrug under his fingertips.
“Until your knee injury,” Billy guesses correctly, his tone devoid of judgment.
Slowly, Dom nods. “It was as if I started acting like I was twenty-one again, then I could play like it, too.” Pausing, Dom shoots Billy a warning glance. “Don’t you fucking dare laugh. I’ve spent the past year of my life going crazy, wondering if I was ever going to set foot on that pitch again.”
“I can understand that, Dom, and I would never, ever laugh at you,” Billy replies softly and tenderly. Beginning a vibrating massage along both sides of Dom’s spine, Billy uses his strong, talented hands to encourage relaxation. “It must have been a shock to have to face a premature end to your career. You were scared. I can see how regression would be a likely stage.”
“Now you sound just like a doctor,” Dom complains with a low growl.
“That’s because I am a doctor,” Billy fires back. “And if you want to keep playing, Dom, you’d better start treating this body with more respect. I’m prescribing a daily massage and expect your team physio to do it after each and every practice.”
“But I don’t like Karl’s touch as well as yours,” Dom grumbles into his arm. “He does all this hitting with the side of his hand. Not to mention his fist. I think the bloke’s a closet sadist.”
“Hey, we’re getting to that part next,” Billy warns, barely surpressing a chuckle.
“Shite.”
“Look, Dom,” Billy’s voice turns deadly serious. “This is extremely important. Especially with the practices that Holm is making you endure. You must feel the difference to your body.”
Dom can definitely feel the change Billy’s wonderful touch is having on him. Not wanting to give up the immense, soothing pleasure, Dom refrains from the evocative, seductive answer that comes to mind.
“I know I hurt like Hell from all those drills during practice. And the collisions.”
Billy fights down his temper at the reminder of the Rangers coach’s obvious strategy to force Dom off the team. “It’s more than that, Dom. With all the sustained activity you’re putting in during practice, you’re forcing your blood vessels into a restricted state.”
“I’m what?”
Brow furrowing, Billy struggles to come up with an example. “Have you ever seen pictures of the New York marathon?”
“Watched it on the telly last year, actually,” Don replies sleepily. “When I was recovering from surgery. The painkillers I was on did funny things to my sleep patterns. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and be up until noon. It took a long time to get back to normal.”
Billy smiles warmly when he realizes that Dom is relaxing, and the massage is beginning to take, just as he hoped it would.
“Do you remember when the runners cross that long bridge?”
“Is that the one where they’re all crowded together like sardines in a can?” Dom asks, stifling a yawn. “From one end to the other?
“That’s the one,” Billy says with a nod. “Think of that bridge as your blood vessels after practice. The millions of blood cells carrying nutrients and waste are all jammed together, and the intake of oxygen and removal of lactic acid become insufficient for the needs of your muscles. So their ability to contractor relax deteriorates. The muscles tighten, your coordination and power diminishes and bang - you’re just asking for an injury. I want you to promise me that you’ll have a massage every day, at least during the season.”
“Yeah, okay. I promise, Doc,” Dom agrees, giving in and yawning widely.
Billy smiles, pleased with himself that he’s managed to get his point across. As a long-distance runner himself, Billy knows that a massage can even have a restorative effect. He considers it vital to good training, and with the way Dom has accepted his medical advice so easily, Billy wonders if he might not convince Dom to see the light and quit altogether, before he’s critically injured.
Then Dom proves once again that he’s at least one step ahead of Billy. “I suppose, as my physician, you’d like me most likely to come to you for my daily treatment.”
“No, I’ve already suggested the team physio, as you will recall,” Billy reminds Dom, performing a variety of light percussion movements up and down Dom’s bare back, on either side of his spine.
“I want you,” Dom says simply, moaning softly when Billy finds a particularly tender spot on his lower back, just above his hip.
“Even a famous football player doesn’t always get everything he wants in life, Dom. It’s definitely time you learned that little lesson,” Billy replies, shaking of his head. Focusing on Dom’s upper back now, Billy increases the strength of his touch considerably.
“Hey, take it easy. Now you’re starting to feel like Karl,” Dom complains wearily as Billy’s hands tap vigorously against his aching muscles. Then he returns his attention to their argument. “If you refuse to treat me, Billy, I’ll complain to the UK Medical Board and they'll take away your license,” Dom warns in a low voice.
“That’s ridiculous,” Billy snaps.
“Really? Haven’t you heard of the Hippocratic oath?” Dom asks with a yawn. “I think you’re stuck with me, Dr. Boyd.”
As Billy opens his mouth to issue a scathing comment, he realizes that Dom has drifted off to sleep. His heart goes out to Dom as he observes his bruised, lithe body and wonders what is inside Dominic Monaghan that drives him to play football week after week, year after year, despite the constant pain and chronic injuries that are an accepted and expected risk of his chosen sport.
Clearly, there is far more to Dom than meets the eye, which is intriguing, because what is visible is undeniably gorgeous, except for the bruises blossoming over his tanned skin. Deliberately, Billy avoids looking below Dom’s waist, where the towel is barely shielding his nudity.
With a soft sigh, Billy carefully rises from the couch to retrieve a pillow and a larger blanket from the hall closet. As Billy covers up Dom’s nearly bare body, the feelings washing over him in warm waves are definitely those of a man, rather than a physician. Unable to stop himself, Billy bends down and brushes a feathery kiss to Dom’s temple. Then, with one last glare in the direction of the party still going on next door, Billy wearily climbs the stairs to bed.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Dom is still lingering in Billy’s thoughts more than a day later, as he tiptoes outside on a cool, Monday morning. A slight smile curls up the corners of Billy’s lips as he expels a soft sigh. Dominic Monaghan is a paradox. How is it that Billy can go from wanting to bash the man over his head with the nearest object to caring for him so deeply, all in a span of a few brief seconds?
As Billy begins his daily run through the crisp, deserted, early morning streets, Billy allows his mind to wander the complicated maze of his feelings for Dom. He’s used to handling men, professionally, and on a rather limited basis, even personally. The one thing Billy’s always prided himself on is his inner strength. His firm, trim body houses a core of steel that has enabled him to survive the heartbreaking loss of his parents, medical school, his internship, residency, and even a loveless marriage that ended so painfully.
However, Billy’s the first to admit he’s also a creature of impulsive decisions, most of which have fortunately turned out just fine. The ingestion of too much alcohol, leading to the reckless lovemaking that resulted in Cameron may not have been a firm foundation for marriage, but it gave Billy his precious son, whom Billy wouldn’t trade for all the wealth in the world. After taking up running to rid himself of the combined stresses of a home, child and medical school, Billy had impulsively switched specialties from family practice to sports medicine. And just look how that has turned out.
That change has brought Billy back to his beloved Scotland, after a decade away, to the sports clinic, and that in turn, has brought him almost directly to Dom. Grinning to himself, Billy waves good morning to an elderly neighbor who’s come out to retrieve his newspaper off the front step. Even his ancient piano, another impulsive decision, has lead Billy to Dom. Or at least his car. Crashing into, actually, when Billy thinks about it, and Billy’s smile widens as he recalls how furious Dom had appeared, storming out of his yard like a wounded lion. Sparks have flown between them since the very beginning, and don’t appear to be dying down anytime soon.
And that’s why, Billy decides, he’s so inexplicably drawn to Dom. Their turbulent relationship had started out as a contest of wills, and although he hates to admit it, Billy decides there is something undeniably exciting about being pursed by a man who refuses to recognize the meaning of the word retreat. For years, he chased Abby, for scraps of affection as she drifted further and further away, and that hadn’t ended well, but that was because of her inability to look beyond herself. Dom isn’t like that. Not at all.
As he does a series of cool down exercises and stretches outside the kitchen door, Billy mentally reviews Dom’s other, numerous attributes. He’s a cheeky Brit, handsome, intelligent, and although Billy has a feeling it’s a side of Dominic Monaghan prefers to keep hidden from most people, he’s actually a very caring and gentle man. If things were different, if only he wasn’t Dom’s doctor . . .
Shaking his head, Billy disallows the rogue thought. He’s really never been one for wishful thinking and this is definitely no time to start. Pulling the hem of his t-shirt up, Billy wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and then draws the material down his face as he opens the kitchen door and walks inside.
“Good morning.”
Stopping short, Billy can only stare in shock, an eyebrow slowly arching at the sight before him. The object of Billy’s soul searching is seated at his kitchen table, apparently sharing breakfast with Cameron. Why in the world Dom is sitting in Billy’s kitchen like it’s something he does every single day, Billy has absolutely no idea.
“Hey Dad, did you know that Dom slept over here Saturday night?” Cameron offers as a greeting, a loaded fork halfway to his cherubic mouth.
“I knew,” Billy replies somewhat breathlessly, still slightly winded from his run. “It was too noisy over at his house so he slept on the couch. Hello, Dom. How are you feeling this morning?”
Taking a bite of his toast, Dom observes Billy while he chews, hungry eyes feasting on the tantalizing sight of Billy’s exposed belly until it’s cruelly covered up again. His deep, blue-grey eyes take a slow tour of Billy’s trim body, clad in a white t-shirt and navy blue running shorts. It’s then that Dom is reminded of the first they’d met, one short month ago. Just over thirty days now and Dom feels as though his life will never be the same again.
Shrugging, Dom finally answers the question. “Sore, but I’ll spend some time in the whirlpool this morning. That’ll help.”
“Do you have practice today?” Billy asks as he unlaces his trainers and heels them off.
“Nope. We get the first practice after a match off. Then we start with a light workout and work our way up to match day again. Although with Holm, who knows what he’ll think up before the season is over.”
“I’ll want to check that knee over before your next full strength practice,” Billy instructs, picking up a piece of bacon from Cameron’s plate and taking a bite. “This is good, but you certainly don’t have to cook breakfast, Dom.”
Dom merely smiles, walking over to the counter and fussing with the coffee machine for a few moments. “I wanted to show my appreciation for letting me sleep on the couch and it really wasn’t any problem, since I would’ve cooked something anyway. I was going to fix you a plate as well, but Cam says you don’t eat breakfast.”
Nodding in agreement, Billy leans over, tousles Cameron’s hair affectionately, earning a toothy grin from the boy, and then takes a bite of the toast his son offers to him. “I don’t usually.”
Shooting Billy a stern look, Dom replies, “Didn’t they teach nutrition at that medical school you attended, Dr. Boyd? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, or were you away the day they taught that tidbit of information?”
When Dom returns to the table, Billy's eyes widen with surprise when he’s offered a latte. His absolute favorite way to have a cup of coffee.
“How did you-”
“I asked Cam,” Dom interrupts softly. “I wanted to make something I knew you couldn’t resist.”
Sighing, Billy smiles his thanks as he takes the proffered cup and sits down across from Cameron at the table.
“I’m fully aware that breakfast is important. When I was Cameron’s age, my Mum used to make porridge for me every single day,” Billy explains fondly, his tone tender and gentle as he remembers. “But when I was an intern, I picked up some truly atrocious eating habits, and I’m afraid they stuck. Trust me when I tell you that thirty-six hours on, then ten off, then another thirty-six on does incredibly strange things to your inner clock.”
Sitting back down in his chair next to Cameron, Dom rests his elbows on the table and holds his half empty cup between his palms as he observes Billy thoughtfully. “Were you married in those days?”
Billy nods slowly, taking a long sip of his latte. “Married and full-time father.”
Something flickers in the depths of Dom’s eyes, but Billy cannot discern its meaning.
“That must have been tough,” Dom offers, momentarily pursing his lips in thought.
Smiling fondly at Cameron, his eyes overflowing with love, Billy replies, “ It was more than worth it.” Then, swallowing down the last of his latte quickly, Billy rises. “Cameron, make yourself a peanut butter sandwich, wrap up an apple and get some of those cookies that we bought the other day for your lunch. I’m going to take a shower and get ready for work.”
“Sure, Dad.” Drinking down the last of his milk in long, thirsty swallows, Cameron wipes away the creamy mustache with the back of his hand.
“And don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher,” Billy calls over his shoulder.
“I never do,” Cameron counters in a mildly aggravated tone as he scrunches up his small nose. “I do my share around here.”
Pausing, Billy turns around and gives him an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cobby. You always have, and I really appreciate it.”
Nodding firmly in satisfaction, Cameron stands up and carries his plate to the sink, along with the fork and glass. “I know you do, Dad. It’s like you always say, the two of us make a good team, yeah?”
Billy holds his breath, hoping that Cameron won’t choose this morning to bring up his idea of inviting Dom into their small family. Thankfully, Billy’s luck holds as Cameron remains blessedly silent.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 8
Author:
dylan_dufresne Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R, maybe.
Summary: Dr. Boyd gets distracted and then makes Dom a surprising offer.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks to
frojane, for the beta. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much.Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: I really enjoyed this chapter. It was fun to play with. Damn it feels good to be back. :) Thank you so much for all your lovely comments. *loves*
Previous Parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 7 - A Promise Broken & A Promise Kept
“Ah, peace at last,” Dom sighs happily as he sinks down onto Billy’s aging, living room couch. Linking his fingers behind his head, Dom leans back against the soft, navy blue material as he lets his eyes close to soak in the blissful silence.
“If peace and quiet was what you were seeking tonight, you’ve got a strange way of showing it,” Billy points out.
Dom cracks open one eye to study Billy. “You sure know how to get to the heart of the matter, don’t you, Dr. Boyd?”
Then Dom surprises Billy by suddenly sitting up straight and eyeing Billy with a certain amount of criticism. “Don’t you ever have any self-doubts? Or are you so self confident about your abilities you can’t imagine being like the rest of us poor bastards?”
Staring down at Dom, Billy wonders where Dom has gotten that mistaken impression. Could he possibly come off so cold, so unfeeling? Self-doubts? Bloody Hell, his life is filled with them, but they’re far too personal, go too deep and hurt much too painfully to share with anyone, especially Dom, who has demonstrated all too clearly that depth isn’t what he’s looking for in a lover. Quite the opposite, actually.
Dom sighs again, but this time it lacks the pleasing note it had a moment earlier. “So, do you have anything to drink around here?”
“I’ve got coffee or tea,” Billy offers. “I’m out of whiskey, but if you’d like something a little stronger, I’ve got a bottle of brandy that managed to survive the move. Or if you prefer, I think there might be some of Cameron’s apple juice in the fridge as well.”
“Brandy would be really nice,” Dom agrees with a slow, thoughtful nod. “The adrenaline from the match is starting to wear off and I think I need an analgesic.”
Concerned, Billy steps closer. “Is your knee hurting?”
Smiling ruefully, Dom shakes his head. “Billy, my entire body feels like it’s been run over by a truck. At least twice.”
Opening his mouth to tell Dom that perhaps he should consider quitting, if this is all the reward he receives, Billy decides to hold his tongue instead, knowing that when they have the conversation, he stands a better chance of making Dom listen to reason when he’s not so completely knackered. Lines he’s never noticed before are etched into Dom’s tanned face, and Billy experiences the inexplicable urge to reach out and stroke them with his fingertips, or even kiss them away. There is a flash of an image of Dom stretched out beneath Billy, crying out in wanton ecstasy as Billy overwhelms him with pleasure, and then it is gone.
“I’ll get the brandy,” Billy says softly, his voice a wee bit unsteady.
Nodding, Dom closes his eyes again and leans his head against the back of the couch. Sexy. Despite Billy’s often irritatingly professional demeanor, the man is undeniably sexy. And soft. Christ, how incredibly soft Billy’s hair is, and his sweet, pale skin. Fantasizing about holding Billy in his arms, rolling around in bed, bringing their bodies together in wild abandon, Dom drifts off into oblivion.
“Here you are.”
As Billy sits down beside him, his soothing voice shattering the stillness, Dom’s blue-grey eyes fly open, and Billy gets the distinct impression that Dom was actually sleeping.
“You should be in bed,” Billy scolds gently, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
The heat of the erotic fantasy is still surging through Dom’s veins as he accepts the glass of alcohol. “I agree completely. We should be in bed. Lead the way.”
Fighting the response to Dom’s seductively crooned suggestion deep within, even as his arousal aches at the idea, Billy firmly replies, “You promised, Dom.”
Give it time, Dom warns himself. Just a wee bit more time. Billy’s pupils are wide and dark, his green eyes giving away his deepest secrets as they smolder with a lingering heat that he cannot hide. Dom manages a casual, yet admittedly regretful tone.
“So I did, Billy. So I did.” Nodding reluctantly, Dom wraps his fingers around the tumbler of brandy, feeling the warmth from Billy’s hand. “Thank you, for this.”
Watching Dom lift the glass to his mouth and part his lips, Billy receives a definite jolt. Must absolutely everything about this man have to affect him so erotically? It’s lunacy to be sitting here, so close to Dom, the lights low, the stillness of the house in direct contrast to the craziness next door making the mood seem all the more intimate. It almost feels like a deliberate setup for a seduction on my part, Billy realizes. How must it look to Dom, but exactly that?
As the bracing liquid clears his mind, Dom tries to remind himself that he is a civilized man. He can’t give in to instinct and beg Billy to ravish him right here and now, just like that night in the kitchen, nor can he nibble on that ridiculously enticing neck. Cursing the pledge he’d made, although he knows that if he hadn’t, Dom knows for certain that Billy wouldn’t have allowed Dom to be sitting here at the moment otherwise. Dom wants Billy - Fuck, how he wants Billy - more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his whole bloody life. Dom’s trying to tell himself that it’s to cap off the day in style, to achieve a victory on all fronts, but something in that explanation is ringing false.
Truthfully, Billy’s been driving Dom crazy since the beginning, infiltrating his thoughts, disturbing his sleep with erotic fantasizes. Nearly every day in the last month, when he’s supposed to be concentrating on football, Dom keeps seeing Billy’s face in his mind’s eye. Over and over, Billy appears to him in a myriad of ways and images, constantly changing, like a kaleidoscope. Who the bloody hell is Dr. Billy Boyd, Dom wonders. And what is he doing to Dom’s mind? To his life?
“I enjoyed the match today,” Billy murmurs into the deep silence, running his finger along the rim of his glass.
“I’m glad,” Dom replies quietly. “I’m also very glad you came. Honestly, I wasn’t sure that you would.”
“I couldn’t very well let Cameron down, now could I?” Billy explains, struggling to keep his voice calm and nonchalant. “He was so excited when you gave him the tickets.”
How the bloody hell can Billy tell Dom that it would’ve been impossible to stay away from the match because Billy’s already discovered that it’s an impossibility to stay away from Dom? These weeks apart have been so difficult, and it doesn’t appear to be getting any easier to bear.
“Of course not,” Dom agrees tersely, his body tensing. “We have to let him down gently, don’t we? ”
So that’s all it is. A paternal duty. The very idea makes Dom feel like a bloody fool for the rush of pleasure he’d experienced when he’d seen Billy in the stands, before and after the match. Once again, he’s been a royal git. It’s clearly been easy for Billy to keep his distance this past month, as Dom’s never seen him one time without a well thought out and legitimate reason accompanying him.
“That’s the kindest way,” Billy offers gently. “Protecting Cameron from things that could hurt him is my first priority. This is the way it has to be.”
“I suppose you know best,” Dom admits with a barely restrained, heavy sigh. “You are his father.”
“Aye, I do,” Billy confirms with a sharp nod. “And I am.”
Billy’s firm expression includes more than his decision about his son’s relationship with Dominic Monaghan. Even more important is the fact that he’s not going to get involved with Dom. It cannot happen, under any circumstances. It just can’t.
Sure, taunts the little voice of reason deep inside Billy, poking at him insistently. That’s why you’re just sitting inches apart in a dimly lit room, sipping brandy with him.
Finally, Dom can no longer stand to be this close to Billy without touching him; every atom in his body is screaming with anticipation. Feeling like a teenager on his first date, Dom carefully lifts an arm and slides it along Billy’s shoulders, not missing the sharp intake of breath as his long fingers wrap lightly around Billy’s bicep. He also takes note, with a suppressed smile, that Billy doesn’t protest, verbally or otherwise.
“What did you yell at that player today?” Billy asks blankly, trying to concentrate on something, anything, besides the soothing warmth of Dom’s exhilarating touch on his body.
Taking a sip of his brandy, Dom eyes Billy curiously. “Which one?”
“The big one,” Billy manages to answer as Dom’s long, elegant fingers play havoc with their gentle, rhythmic strokes, almost burning through the sleeve of his shirt.
That earns Billy a small smile and a brief chuckle. “Billy, most football players are rather big,” Dom replies. “Could you be a wee bit more specific?”
Christ, Dom agonizes, Billy’s skin is so perfectly fragrant, so breathtakingly soft. How can Billy honestly expect him to keep his mind on football? For the very first time in his life, Dom wishes he’d never heard of the game.
As the dangerously seductive hand moves down his arm, Billy feels as if Dom’s taken a lighter to his skin, scorching him. Drawing in a deep breath, Billy makes a serious attempt to focus on the conversation.
“The one who kept blocking your passes, before you finally scored the first goal.”
Watching Billy’s chest rise and fall with his now uneven breathing, Dom eyes feast hungrily on the narrow V of gingery chest hair made visible by Billy’s partially unbuttoned shirt, and has to grip his tumbler of brandy to prevent himself from reaching out and running his fingers through the softness.
Dom’s dark and smoldering eyes flame with fire as their gazes meet and hold for endless moments. “Oh, him,” Dom says finally, in a low voice. “I told him to get out of my way.”
“Oh,” Billy whispers, engulfed by the intense heat directed his way, feeding the fire in his belly. “But I saw him yell back. What did he say?”
“You have the loveliest mouth, Billy,” Dom murmurs, dropping his gaze from Billy’s eyes to his lips. “What do you call it, a Cupid’s Bow?”
“Something l-like that,” Billy stammers softly, swallowing hard. “What did he say?”
“It just begs to be kissed.” Dom’s head moves a little closer, breath caressing Billy’s cheek as his fingers tighten perceptibly on Billy’s arm.
“I don’t believe he said that,” Billy argues weakly, entranced as Dom’s blonde head draws nearer. Lips part in anticipation as Dom takes the glass of brandy from Billy’s visibly trembling hand and sets it down on the coffee table in front of them with a slow, deliberate motion. The movement is done entirely by touch, as at no time do Dom’s eyes leave Billy’s mouth.
“You’re right. That’s not what he said,” Dom says in a low, raspy voice, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his own lips. “He warned me that the next time I tried to get past him, he’d dig the cross out, it would end up offside, and we’d lose the ball. So I surprised everybody, risked going offside until I could get past him and then scored it myself, just to piss him off. . . Would I be breaking the rules if I kissed you?”
“Yes.” It’s not a very assertive whisper.
“Then you’re going to have to call a flag, Billy, because I’m about to break the rules.”
Groaning under his breath, Dom finally bridges the distance, his whimpering sigh of satisfaction filling Billy’s sweet mouth. Unlike that night in the kitchen, there is no hint of urgency in Dom’s manner; it’s as if they both surpass the conventional realm of time and space as Dom tastes Billy’s soft, cherubic lips at his leisure.
How amazing it is, that a man who makes his living in a sometimes brutal fashion can be so gentle, so tender, Billy thinks through the fog of desire clouding his mind. Dom’s warm lips are gently caressing his, teasing, coaxing, warming his skin with heat that spreads through his body in escalating waves.
Billy tells himself that this is madness, complete and utter insanity. The Dominic Monaghan that led his team to victory this afternoon has undoubtedly celebrated this way after winning matches since he was a teen. By allowing this behavior, Billy is permitting himself to be nothing but a long established tradition. A reward for a match well played. Even as Billy tells himself this, the persuasive, sensual kiss is sending a delicious whisper of pleasure up and down the bones of his spine, causing them to melt like wax. Soon, Billy promises his practical self. Soon he will end this glorious embrace, but, Christ, how he wants it to go on for just a wee bit longer.
The tip of Dom’s obscenely long tongue slides along the curve of Billy’s upper lip, stroking with little intoxicating movements, bringing every inch of the rosy flesh to tingling awareness. When Dom’s teeth capture the thrusting curve of Billy’s lower lip, Billy tries to remember that what is sheer ecstasy for him is only a victory ritual for Dom.
“Dom, please,” Billy whispers hoarsely against his lips, hands clutching desperately at Dom’s biceps.
Dom’s warm, wet tongue soothes where Billy’s teeth have darkened his skin in an attempt to muffle his moans of pleasure. “Please yes?” he inquires in a husky, uneven note. “Or please no?”
Unable to answer, Billy closes his eyes, as well as his mind to the tormenting voice of reason as Dom’s tongue insinuates itself between his ravished lips, flicking like a finger of flame against the sensitized skin within.
Bodies press together from nose to knees as their mouths meet in desperate hunger, and Billy is shocked by the extent of his passion as he firmly pulls Dom into his embrace. Wherever Dom’s roaming hands touch Billy, his skin comes alive, the blood beneath infusing with a thick warmth, like heated honey. Billy’s lips move against Dom’s, murmuring inarticulate words that cause Dom’s own passion to escalate rapidly, to a point just short of explosion. Mouth falling open in welcome invitation to Billy’s wet, pointy tongue, Dom shifts quickly, stretching out on the couch and pulling Billy forward until he’s laying on top of him. Settling into a comfortable position, Billy’s left thigh presses between Dom’s, their rapidly stiffening erections finding much needed contact and friction.
Feeling Billy tremble and sigh ever so softly as one warm hand slips under Billy’s shirt in order to explore his firm and toned back, Dom’s other hand reaches between their bodies, opening all of the buttons of Billy’s shirt with one, sharp tug. Drawing the material off Billy’s shoulders and tossing the shirt to the floor, everything feels so good, so right. Perfect. Natural. When Dom’s long fingers find and begin teasing Billy’s right nipple, the sensitive nerve endings tighten and swell with arousal, causing Billy to gasp and then rock his hips as he thrusts his tongue deeper into Dom’s mouth.
As Billy’s fingers tangle deftly in Dom’s tousled, bleach blonde hair, holding him firmly as their tongues tangle passionately, it suddenly flashes through Dom’s mind that today, he’s proven to everyone that they’d written Dominic Monaghan’s obituary prematurely. There’d been no sign of his injury when he’d surprised everyone and scored the first goal himself. The fans had dropped their objections, lining up behind him once again, because they can recognize a winner. After nearly a year, Dom has his life back on track. Everything is as it should be, including a sexy, Scottish man to make his victory even sweeter.
Even as he thinks all that, Dom realizes that his hands are inexplicably shaking, his body trembling. He’s in serious danger of completely losing control, which makes no sense to his troubled mind. This is his victory, he should be relaxed and perhaps even calm. Not that he told Billy, but he’d had every intention of ending up in Billy’s bed tonight, finishing what they started over a month ago in the kitchen. Thinking further, Dom is stunned by the fact that merely kissing Billy, simply touching Billy’s bare skin, is driving him to the ragged edge of sanity.
Left leg wrapped around Billy’s hip, Dom slides his long, elegant fingers down the shallow groove of Billy’s spine, relishing in the sensation of the warm, aroused flesh. Lips parting and coming back together wetly, Billy’s tongue tasting every last inch of Dom’s sweet mouth, Dom is helpless to do anything except hold on and enjoy the ride. Fingers pausing at the waistband of Billy’s jeans, Dom can’t stop himself from exploring lower, sliding his hand down even further, gasping in surprise when he finds bare skin instead of the expected boxers or pants. Cupping the round curve and squeezing in a tantalizing rhythm, Dom moans loudly and wantonly thrusts up into Billy’s hips, longing for more. Longing for Billy to be buried deep inside him.
The fact is, Dominic Monaghan makes love like he plays football, with a practiced skill that makes every movement seem inordinately natural and unrehearsed. Thanks to his huge success as a football player, he’s had plenty of opportunities over the years to perfect his technique. Yet as his fingers fumble desperately with the zipper on Billy’s jeans, the reason why this is a physical act, one that Dom has performed so many times before in his lifetime, should suddenly seem so new, so different, eludes his understanding. Before Dom can dwell on the thought any further, Billy breaks the kiss and wraps his fingers around Dom’s searching hand.
“Dom, we can’t.”
While Billy freely admits to himself that part of him is crying out for Dom’s exquisite lovemaking, something equally as strong insists on caution. Billy has no idea what is happening between them, but instinct tells him that they are plunging into something far more entangling than a casual love affair. And it’s all happening too fast. They haven’t so much as touched, aside from professional examinations, for over a month, and now Billy’s half naked, kissing and dry humping Dom to the edge of orgasm on his living room couch.
“Of course we can,” Dom replies, his mouth swallowing Billy’s weak protest as his teasing touch creates further havoc within every fibre of Billy’s being. “You can’t deny you want me as badly as I want you. Stop fighting me and just let it happen.”
Small palms frame Dom’s tanned face, and smoky green eyes speak volumes. “Of course I want you, Dom,” Billy admits. “I think that’s very clear, but we can’t always have everything we want. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
Dom is appalled at the intense flash of desperation that sears through him as Billy pushes up and off of him, sitting on the couch and leaning down to scoop up his discarded shirt from the floor. Drawing on the material and buttoning it, Billy quickly covers up his gloriously creamy skin and furry chest.
“Maybe we can’t always have what we want, but we can bloody well try,” Dom argues, sitting up and surreptitiously rubbing the heel of his hand into his lap, in desperate need of friction.
“We can try a little patience, too,” Billy retorts, moving away to the other end of the couch, needing some distance in order to clear the lust from his head.
Billy knows that his behavior can easily be considered irrational, dangerous, most definitely conflicting and almost taunting. He’s a grown man with a child, he knows better than to allow things to get out of control like this. He doesn’t mean to be a tease; it’s just so difficult to resist Dom. The obvious anxiety and flash of guilt in Billy’s eyes only serves to irritate Dom further.
“Patience is an overrated virtue. Dammit, Billy, this is ridiculous!” Dom blurts out in frustration. “I want you. You want me. We’re both adults, so what’s the matter?”
Desperately, Billy wishes he knew. “I never meant for this to happen,” he says softly. “For things to get so out of hand. Not again. Not tonight.”
“Like that night in the kitchen,” Dom says quietly, almost gently.
“Yes.”
“Well, I did,” Dom admits, rising from the couch abruptly. Retrieving his tumbler of brandy from the coffee table, Dom swallows the liquid in a long, thirsty gulp, enjoying the burn down his throat.
“But you promised,” Billy reminds him softly. “We were only going to talk.”
Dom shrugs, trying for casual nonchalance. “Surprise. I lied.”
“Oh.”
Reaching out with trembling hands, Billy leans forward and picks up his own glass. Eyeing Dom thoughtfully, Billy sips the comforting brandy, taking in his rigid stance, realizing that every muscle in Dom’s body seems horribly stiff and tense. Rather pointedly, Billy doesn’t let his gaze linger on Dom’s tented jeans that are showcasing his obvious arousal.
“You do that very well,” Billy murmurs finally, the fire in his belly refusing to be extinguished.
“Which are you talking about? Sex?” Dom asks, glancing at his now empty glass and wishing it contained more alcohol. “Or lying?”
“Both, I guess.”
Turning abruptly, Dom walks over to the desk in the corner, where Billy had left the bottle of brandy. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he says, refilling his glass. When he turns back, Dom’s eyes are filled with a glittering, seductive warning. “I’m not giving up, you know.”
Meeting Dom’s frank gaze with assumed tranquility, Billy trembles internally, his heart still racing. “Hasn’t anyone ever turned you down, Dom?”
Leaning back against the desk and crossing his long legs at the ankle, Dom arches an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I think this just might be a first for the infamous star football player,” Billy decides, eyeing Dom thoughtfully, the tip of his finger tracing the rim of his glass.
Smiling sardonically, Dom shakes his head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Billy. All you’ve done is postpone the inevitable. It’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of time.”
“With delusions of grandeur like that, I think you need a psychiatrist a lot more than you do a sports doctor,” Billy shoots back heatedly, detesting Dom’s casual arrogance.
Watching the spark of fury darken Billy’s green eyes, Dom is reminded what a passionate man Billy is. Sex with Billy is going to be like trying to tame an erupting volcano. Then again, Dom’s not so sure he wants Billy tame. The temptation to allow himself to be consumed by the heat is almost overwhelming.
“Wrong,” Dom says, grinning maddeningly, infuriating Billy further. “I know one particular sports doctor I need a great deal.” Coming towards Billy slowly, Dom’s desirous gaze is riveted to his face and their eyes war for a long, silent moment. While Billy’s eyes are dark and stormy, Dom’s glitter dangerously, the sexual tension in the room palpable.
“Somebody really ought to tell you that you’re not irresistible,” Billy says in a low voice, silently hoping that Dom can’t hear the wavering he feels inside.
Quirking an eyebrow, Dom maintains his bland smile. “ Don’t you find me even moderately irresistible?”
“Hardly,” Billy snorts, rolling his eyes as he sets his glass of brandy back down on the table in front of him.
Irrationally, Billy waits to be struck down by a bolt of lightening for telling such an outrageous lie, while his face is the picture of control.
Billy’s haughty tone causes Dom’s own temper to flare, but Dom fights hard to control it. He does, however, give in to primitive instinct as he slams his glass down on the coffee table before pulling Billy abruptly off the couch and into his arms.
“Prove it,” Dom growls, their lips mere inches apart.
Trying to pull away, Billy stills when one of Dom’s hands gently cups the back of his head.
“Dom,” Billy protests, palms pressing firmly against Dom’s strong, warm chest. “Let me go.”
“I said, prove it,” Dom repeats in a low voice, his long fingers carefully tightening in Billy’s ginger hair, nails scritching lightly at his scalp.
Reading the frustration, lust and desire in Dom’s stormy blue-grey eyes, Billy fights against the thrill of excitement created by Dom’s hard, tense body pressed so intimately against his. Dom feels Billy’s slight tremor, and guided by some inner compulsion, he finds his world centered for a dangerous, suspended time on this one man. How much Billy wants to say yes, and just fall into Dom, but he just can’t. As they stare at one another, both Dom and Billy are overwhelmingly shaken, but neither wants to be the one to admit it.
Finally blinking to break the spell, Dom speaks first, his voice low and hoarse. “Next time you won’t say no.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Billy protests softly.
Tracing the bow-shaped curve of Billy’s mouth with the tip of his finger, Dom smiles. “Oh yes, my sexy, desirable Scot, there will definitely be a next time, as well as several after that, I’m willing to bet. I fully intend to make love to you every time these ridiculously seductive lips get within kissing distance.” Then silently, Dom adds, having satisfied his curiosity and desire, he can get on with rebuilding his life.
Stepping back, Dom eyes Billy thoughtfully. “Good night,” he says before turning to walk back to his own house and a party that had been a bloody lousy idea to begin with. With some luck, David will be up to distracting Dom, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always alcohol, and lots of it.
Billy’s discerning eyes have not missed Dom’s increasingly pronounced limp and suppressed grimaces of pain. The physician in Billy surfaces, coming to the rescue of the aroused and sexually frustrated man before him.
“Would you like the massage I promised you that first night?” Billy inquires calmly, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
Looking back over his shoulder with wide eyes, Dom’s answering expression is incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Suspiciously, Dom’s eyes narrow. “What kind of massage are we talking about here?”
Billy has to smile at that, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Don’t worry, Dom, I’m not going to attack you. We’ve got Dr. Boyd back now, and he’s a take charge bloke, remember?”
Remaining silent, Dom neglects to mention that he’s been having trouble with that one, too. In fact, he hasn’t found one aspect of Billy that doesn’t intrigue him, make him want to know Billy better.
“Well?” Billy prompts, arching an eyebrow as he waits for Dom’s answer.
Dom weighs his options. There are any number of beautiful, willing women next door. There is a chance that this night doesn’t have to be a total loss. Dom then frowns as he realizes he only wants Billy. He doesn’t want to dilute Billy’s taste or touch, diminish the seductive feel of Billy’s firm, toned body with any other comparison.
Damn him, Dom considers with a fresh burst of irritation. Billy’s infiltrated his system like a drug and as much as he wants to walk away, Dom finds that he can’t.
“Actually, I think I would like that massage,” he answers finally. “After all these years, I thought I was well acquainted with every bone and muscle in my body, but I discovered a few new ones today.”
“I’ll get the lotion,” Billy says before turning away and starting to walk towards the hallway.
“Billy?”
“Yes, Dom?” Billy replies, pausing to look over his shoulder.
Brow furrowed in thought, Dom shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Are you sure?”
Billy meets Dom’s questioning gaze with a level one of his own. “Don’t worry, Dom. I’ve yet to attack one of my patients.” His tone is dry and Dom doesn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed by the way Billy seems to have recovered his compose so effortlessly. “You’re safe enough.”
Watching Billy escape the room as he starts to strip down, Dom realizes that Billy can’t begin to understand how false a statement that is. Dom is fast discovering that Billy is the quite easily, the most dangerous man he’s ever met. Tempted to stretch out on his back, in all his naked glory, Dom decides that Billy may rescind his offer of a massage if he walks back into the room and finds Dom completely starkers. Instead, Dom settles on the couch on his stomach, a blanket pulled down from the back of the couch and arranged carefully to shield his nudity.
In the loo, Billy leans against the basin as he splashes cold water on his face, gathering up his scattered senses and ordering his heart to stop pounding. Then Billy tries a variety of expressions in the mirror until he finds one to his liking. There. That looks far more self-confident that I feel.
“My God,” Billy breathes softly as he returns to the living room. “You look absolutely terrible.”
“Now I know why you’re not worried about a naked bloke lying on your couch. A couple more of those ego boosters and I won’t be able to do anything anyway,” Dom grumbles as he looks up to meet Billy’s stricken gaze.
Frowning, Billy eyes a darkening bruise in the middle of Dom’s back with deep concern. “This isn’t funny, Dom. You look like a side of beef.”
Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Dom shrugs indifferently. “They’ll fade. They always do.”
Crouching down and reaching over, Billy traces the stud scar just under Dom’s jaw line. “Always?” he inquires softly, arching an argumentative eyebrow.
“Usually,” Dom concedes. “That’s just a reminder to move fast and watch out for flying feet.”
Billy worried gaze then drops to Dom’s knee. “You don’t have much mobility these days, Dom,” he argues. “How are going to avoid all the dangers for the rest of the season?”
“One match at a time, I suppose,” Dom replies, disliking this subject intensely. “The same way I always have. What other choice do I have? I want to play.”
Perching on the edge of the couch at Dom’s hip, Billy frowns at the thick blanket covering Dom.
“Why are you using this?” he asks, pulling the soft material away. “I’ve got a towel here. I don’t want to get lotion on-”
When Dom’s bare arse comes into view, Billy abruptly stops talking, quickly covering the exposed flesh with the towel he brought from the loo. The simmering fire in Billy’s belly has been doused in gasoline, and Billy has to close his hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out to eagerly caress the the sweet curve of tantalizing flesh. Swallowing hard and biting down on his lower lip, Billy fights for control.
“You could’ve warned me,” Billy finally says once the towel is shielding Dom’s nudity and the blanket is folded back up again, laying in its rightful place over the back of the couch.
“I covered up,” Dom replies mildly, smiling with satisfaction as he rests his chin on his folded arms. “It’s not my fault you looked.”
“One match at a time,” Billy repeats, getting back to the previous subject and hoping that the heat in his cheeks will dissipate quickly. “And after the season’s over?”
Expelling a deep, heavy sigh, Dom turns his head to one side and lays down, using his arms as a makeshift pillow. “Then I spend the off season working out, building my knee up some more.”
“If it isn’t completely destroyed,” Billy mutters quietly under his breath, rubbing some lotion between his small hands to warm it.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” Dom invites.
As Billy’s hand spread over Dom’s lean back, he can feel the tension in each and every muscle. Dom is clearly very sore, tired, and has ridden an emotional roller coaster all afternoon. This is definitely not the time to bring it up.
“And after the summer?” Billy forces himself to ask casually, breath catching as he observes the contrast between his pale hands and Dom’s tanned back. Simply put, the view is intoxicating and arousing.
“Then there’s next season,” Dom states matter of factly.
“I see,” Billy replies, keeping his tone completely neutral. “And you plan to play next season?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Dom meets Billy’s eyes for a brief moment. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Billy repeats softly, having suspected the answer before he asked the question. Exhaling quietly, Billy slides his palms in long, flowing strokes over Dom’s back with gentle, even pressure.
“Bloody hell, you have nice hands,” Dom murmurs with a low groan, his mind beginning to float comfortably on a bed of puffy, white clouds.
“Thank you,” Billy answers with a small smile. “And you have very tense muscles.”
“That’s the name of the game, isn’t it?”
“If you’re going to be football’s old man, Dom, you’re going to have to learn to take better care of this body,” Billy retorts firmly, yet quietly.
“Hey,” Dom complains with a wince, trying to shift a wee bit as Billy begins kneading some swollen muscle tissue. “I’m in pretty good shape, better than some of the rookies. I’ll have you know that on the first day of the pre-season I had a 3.25 body fat ratio. The lowest on the team.”
Of that, Billy has no doubt. Dom’s all lean muscle and strong sinew, but he’s not a machine. Sadly, Billy wonders when Dom is going to realize that for himself.
“You should’ve had this massage hours ago, instead of letting your muscles swell up like this,” Billy scolds, pressing down harder, wringing out Dom’s tense muscles with an almost relentless kneading, rolling motion, knowing that it’ll bring Dom some much needed relief.
“Ah, but I couldn’t find anyone at the party who has such great hands,” Dom teases, chuckling under his breath, causing his body to vibrate.
Billy can’t help himself. He pinches Dom. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Pardon me,” Billy says sweetly, with mock innocence. “Speaking of that party, is this going to be a regular occurrence? Monthly, perhaps? Is there a schedule? I’d like to book Cameron’s and my hotel room in advance next time.”
“Would you believe that’s the last one of the season for me to host?” Dom asks, almost sheepishly.
Seeking to breaking up the muscle knots constricting Dom’s blood vessels, Billy’s fingertips move in deep, slow circular movements, listening to Dom sigh almost breathlessly. “Really?”
Turning his head, Dom looks up at Billy, his expression serious. “Really. I’ve always hated them, which is why I quit going to them years ago. Until . . . “ Dom’s voice drops off, not wanting to say the words, and Billy feels him shrug under his fingertips.
“Until your knee injury,” Billy guesses correctly, his tone devoid of judgment.
Slowly, Dom nods. “It was as if I started acting like I was twenty-one again, then I could play like it, too.” Pausing, Dom shoots Billy a warning glance. “Don’t you fucking dare laugh. I’ve spent the past year of my life going crazy, wondering if I was ever going to set foot on that pitch again.”
“I can understand that, Dom, and I would never, ever laugh at you,” Billy replies softly and tenderly. Beginning a vibrating massage along both sides of Dom’s spine, Billy uses his strong, talented hands to encourage relaxation. “It must have been a shock to have to face a premature end to your career. You were scared. I can see how regression would be a likely stage.”
“Now you sound just like a doctor,” Dom complains with a low growl.
“That’s because I am a doctor,” Billy fires back. “And if you want to keep playing, Dom, you’d better start treating this body with more respect. I’m prescribing a daily massage and expect your team physio to do it after each and every practice.”
“But I don’t like Karl’s touch as well as yours,” Dom grumbles into his arm. “He does all this hitting with the side of his hand. Not to mention his fist. I think the bloke’s a closet sadist.”
“Hey, we’re getting to that part next,” Billy warns, barely surpressing a chuckle.
“Shite.”
“Look, Dom,” Billy’s voice turns deadly serious. “This is extremely important. Especially with the practices that Holm is making you endure. You must feel the difference to your body.”
Dom can definitely feel the change Billy’s wonderful touch is having on him. Not wanting to give up the immense, soothing pleasure, Dom refrains from the evocative, seductive answer that comes to mind.
“I know I hurt like Hell from all those drills during practice. And the collisions.”
Billy fights down his temper at the reminder of the Rangers coach’s obvious strategy to force Dom off the team. “It’s more than that, Dom. With all the sustained activity you’re putting in during practice, you’re forcing your blood vessels into a restricted state.”
“I’m what?”
Brow furrowing, Billy struggles to come up with an example. “Have you ever seen pictures of the New York marathon?”
“Watched it on the telly last year, actually,” Don replies sleepily. “When I was recovering from surgery. The painkillers I was on did funny things to my sleep patterns. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and be up until noon. It took a long time to get back to normal.”
Billy smiles warmly when he realizes that Dom is relaxing, and the massage is beginning to take, just as he hoped it would.
“Do you remember when the runners cross that long bridge?”
“Is that the one where they’re all crowded together like sardines in a can?” Dom asks, stifling a yawn. “From one end to the other?
“That’s the one,” Billy says with a nod. “Think of that bridge as your blood vessels after practice. The millions of blood cells carrying nutrients and waste are all jammed together, and the intake of oxygen and removal of lactic acid become insufficient for the needs of your muscles. So their ability to contractor relax deteriorates. The muscles tighten, your coordination and power diminishes and bang - you’re just asking for an injury. I want you to promise me that you’ll have a massage every day, at least during the season.”
“Yeah, okay. I promise, Doc,” Dom agrees, giving in and yawning widely.
Billy smiles, pleased with himself that he’s managed to get his point across. As a long-distance runner himself, Billy knows that a massage can even have a restorative effect. He considers it vital to good training, and with the way Dom has accepted his medical advice so easily, Billy wonders if he might not convince Dom to see the light and quit altogether, before he’s critically injured.
Then Dom proves once again that he’s at least one step ahead of Billy. “I suppose, as my physician, you’d like me most likely to come to you for my daily treatment.”
“No, I’ve already suggested the team physio, as you will recall,” Billy reminds Dom, performing a variety of light percussion movements up and down Dom’s bare back, on either side of his spine.
“I want you,” Dom says simply, moaning softly when Billy finds a particularly tender spot on his lower back, just above his hip.
“Even a famous football player doesn’t always get everything he wants in life, Dom. It’s definitely time you learned that little lesson,” Billy replies, shaking of his head. Focusing on Dom’s upper back now, Billy increases the strength of his touch considerably.
“Hey, take it easy. Now you’re starting to feel like Karl,” Dom complains wearily as Billy’s hands tap vigorously against his aching muscles. Then he returns his attention to their argument. “If you refuse to treat me, Billy, I’ll complain to the UK Medical Board and they'll take away your license,” Dom warns in a low voice.
“That’s ridiculous,” Billy snaps.
“Really? Haven’t you heard of the Hippocratic oath?” Dom asks with a yawn. “I think you’re stuck with me, Dr. Boyd.”
As Billy opens his mouth to issue a scathing comment, he realizes that Dom has drifted off to sleep. His heart goes out to Dom as he observes his bruised, lithe body and wonders what is inside Dominic Monaghan that drives him to play football week after week, year after year, despite the constant pain and chronic injuries that are an accepted and expected risk of his chosen sport.
Clearly, there is far more to Dom than meets the eye, which is intriguing, because what is visible is undeniably gorgeous, except for the bruises blossoming over his tanned skin. Deliberately, Billy avoids looking below Dom’s waist, where the towel is barely shielding his nudity.
With a soft sigh, Billy carefully rises from the couch to retrieve a pillow and a larger blanket from the hall closet. As Billy covers up Dom’s nearly bare body, the feelings washing over him in warm waves are definitely those of a man, rather than a physician. Unable to stop himself, Billy bends down and brushes a feathery kiss to Dom’s temple. Then, with one last glare in the direction of the party still going on next door, Billy wearily climbs the stairs to bed.
Dom is still lingering in Billy’s thoughts more than a day later, as he tiptoes outside on a cool, Monday morning. A slight smile curls up the corners of Billy’s lips as he expels a soft sigh. Dominic Monaghan is a paradox. How is it that Billy can go from wanting to bash the man over his head with the nearest object to caring for him so deeply, all in a span of a few brief seconds?
As Billy begins his daily run through the crisp, deserted, early morning streets, Billy allows his mind to wander the complicated maze of his feelings for Dom. He’s used to handling men, professionally, and on a rather limited basis, even personally. The one thing Billy’s always prided himself on is his inner strength. His firm, trim body houses a core of steel that has enabled him to survive the heartbreaking loss of his parents, medical school, his internship, residency, and even a loveless marriage that ended so painfully.
However, Billy’s the first to admit he’s also a creature of impulsive decisions, most of which have fortunately turned out just fine. The ingestion of too much alcohol, leading to the reckless lovemaking that resulted in Cameron may not have been a firm foundation for marriage, but it gave Billy his precious son, whom Billy wouldn’t trade for all the wealth in the world. After taking up running to rid himself of the combined stresses of a home, child and medical school, Billy had impulsively switched specialties from family practice to sports medicine. And just look how that has turned out.
That change has brought Billy back to his beloved Scotland, after a decade away, to the sports clinic, and that in turn, has brought him almost directly to Dom. Grinning to himself, Billy waves good morning to an elderly neighbor who’s come out to retrieve his newspaper off the front step. Even his ancient piano, another impulsive decision, has lead Billy to Dom. Or at least his car. Crashing into, actually, when Billy thinks about it, and Billy’s smile widens as he recalls how furious Dom had appeared, storming out of his yard like a wounded lion. Sparks have flown between them since the very beginning, and don’t appear to be dying down anytime soon.
And that’s why, Billy decides, he’s so inexplicably drawn to Dom. Their turbulent relationship had started out as a contest of wills, and although he hates to admit it, Billy decides there is something undeniably exciting about being pursed by a man who refuses to recognize the meaning of the word retreat. For years, he chased Abby, for scraps of affection as she drifted further and further away, and that hadn’t ended well, but that was because of her inability to look beyond herself. Dom isn’t like that. Not at all.
As he does a series of cool down exercises and stretches outside the kitchen door, Billy mentally reviews Dom’s other, numerous attributes. He’s a cheeky Brit, handsome, intelligent, and although Billy has a feeling it’s a side of Dominic Monaghan prefers to keep hidden from most people, he’s actually a very caring and gentle man. If things were different, if only he wasn’t Dom’s doctor . . .
Shaking his head, Billy disallows the rogue thought. He’s really never been one for wishful thinking and this is definitely no time to start. Pulling the hem of his t-shirt up, Billy wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and then draws the material down his face as he opens the kitchen door and walks inside.
“Good morning.”
Stopping short, Billy can only stare in shock, an eyebrow slowly arching at the sight before him. The object of Billy’s soul searching is seated at his kitchen table, apparently sharing breakfast with Cameron. Why in the world Dom is sitting in Billy’s kitchen like it’s something he does every single day, Billy has absolutely no idea.
“Hey Dad, did you know that Dom slept over here Saturday night?” Cameron offers as a greeting, a loaded fork halfway to his cherubic mouth.
“I knew,” Billy replies somewhat breathlessly, still slightly winded from his run. “It was too noisy over at his house so he slept on the couch. Hello, Dom. How are you feeling this morning?”
Taking a bite of his toast, Dom observes Billy while he chews, hungry eyes feasting on the tantalizing sight of Billy’s exposed belly until it’s cruelly covered up again. His deep, blue-grey eyes take a slow tour of Billy’s trim body, clad in a white t-shirt and navy blue running shorts. It’s then that Dom is reminded of the first they’d met, one short month ago. Just over thirty days now and Dom feels as though his life will never be the same again.
Shrugging, Dom finally answers the question. “Sore, but I’ll spend some time in the whirlpool this morning. That’ll help.”
“Do you have practice today?” Billy asks as he unlaces his trainers and heels them off.
“Nope. We get the first practice after a match off. Then we start with a light workout and work our way up to match day again. Although with Holm, who knows what he’ll think up before the season is over.”
“I’ll want to check that knee over before your next full strength practice,” Billy instructs, picking up a piece of bacon from Cameron’s plate and taking a bite. “This is good, but you certainly don’t have to cook breakfast, Dom.”
Dom merely smiles, walking over to the counter and fussing with the coffee machine for a few moments. “I wanted to show my appreciation for letting me sleep on the couch and it really wasn’t any problem, since I would’ve cooked something anyway. I was going to fix you a plate as well, but Cam says you don’t eat breakfast.”
Nodding in agreement, Billy leans over, tousles Cameron’s hair affectionately, earning a toothy grin from the boy, and then takes a bite of the toast his son offers to him. “I don’t usually.”
Shooting Billy a stern look, Dom replies, “Didn’t they teach nutrition at that medical school you attended, Dr. Boyd? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, or were you away the day they taught that tidbit of information?”
When Dom returns to the table, Billy's eyes widen with surprise when he’s offered a latte. His absolute favorite way to have a cup of coffee.
“How did you-”
“I asked Cam,” Dom interrupts softly. “I wanted to make something I knew you couldn’t resist.”
Sighing, Billy smiles his thanks as he takes the proffered cup and sits down across from Cameron at the table.
“I’m fully aware that breakfast is important. When I was Cameron’s age, my Mum used to make porridge for me every single day,” Billy explains fondly, his tone tender and gentle as he remembers. “But when I was an intern, I picked up some truly atrocious eating habits, and I’m afraid they stuck. Trust me when I tell you that thirty-six hours on, then ten off, then another thirty-six on does incredibly strange things to your inner clock.”
Sitting back down in his chair next to Cameron, Dom rests his elbows on the table and holds his half empty cup between his palms as he observes Billy thoughtfully. “Were you married in those days?”
Billy nods slowly, taking a long sip of his latte. “Married and full-time father.”
Something flickers in the depths of Dom’s eyes, but Billy cannot discern its meaning.
“That must have been tough,” Dom offers, momentarily pursing his lips in thought.
Smiling fondly at Cameron, his eyes overflowing with love, Billy replies, “ It was more than worth it.” Then, swallowing down the last of his latte quickly, Billy rises. “Cameron, make yourself a peanut butter sandwich, wrap up an apple and get some of those cookies that we bought the other day for your lunch. I’m going to take a shower and get ready for work.”
“Sure, Dad.” Drinking down the last of his milk in long, thirsty swallows, Cameron wipes away the creamy mustache with the back of his hand.
“And don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher,” Billy calls over his shoulder.
“I never do,” Cameron counters in a mildly aggravated tone as he scrunches up his small nose. “I do my share around here.”
Pausing, Billy turns around and gives him an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cobby. You always have, and I really appreciate it.”
Nodding firmly in satisfaction, Cameron stands up and carries his plate to the sink, along with the fork and glass. “I know you do, Dad. It’s like you always say, the two of us make a good team, yeah?”
Billy holds his breath, hoping that Cameron won’t choose this morning to bring up his idea of inviting Dom into their small family. Thankfully, Billy’s luck holds as Cameron remains blessedly silent.
Chapter 8
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Mmmmmm . . . Starbucks.