FIC: Lines

[vensre.livejournal.com]

Title: Lines
Author: Vensre
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Monaboyd
Summary: Soaking everything in, but still not seeing.
Disclaimer: The way that I can imagine is not the true Way.
Notes: Oneshot. My very first publicly posted fic. Would have never happened if not for my indescribably wonderful beta and partner-in-crime, puddle_took. ♥!! This'll be my birthday mathom for this entire community, with thanks for providing vast quantities of quality reading when I needed it most.
Feedback: Will save my soul.





Billy walks behind his Dominic, pondering lines. He knows there's borders to every relation in the world; the one between him and his barber, the one between him and his sister. Always guidelines to follow, certain ways he oughtn't behave. He stays inside the lines. He is very obedient when it counts.

He thinks that Dominic has trouble seeing the lines. That maybe he's line-blind. When they are all seated in the booth, he knows it's true.

They wind and intercede, blue to Billy's fancy, glowing in the dark of the club. They separate every person and every other. Only, the one between Billy and Dom is getting squished against both of their sides as Dom drapes himself happily over his best mate.

"I didn't think pineapple juice and chocolate syrup would go so well," Dom is saying to Sean's doubtful grimace.

"That can't be all that's in that drink," Sean says, eyeing the murky liquid.

"Mm, I put some of whatever Elijah's drinking in there, too..."

Billy and Sean turn wordlessly to Elijah, just waiting for the shoe to drop. He raises his glass cheerily.

"It's a Bloody Caesar!"

The table erupts in groans and gagging noises.

Fingers brush at Billy's neck, work their way around his collar and under his shirt, splaying gently over the skin of his shoulder, just feeling. Billy freezes. Dom is tipped against him, laughing, unaware that anything is amiss. Dom's ring is metal-slick and cornered against his collarbone, but the line between them persists. At least, he thinks it should be. As usual, Dom is the one who can make him doubt.

When Peter introduced Dom to the other three hobbits, he took to them all as if they were old friends. Which is easy enough in words, but.

Billy was swept away. It was easy to let it become reality, to start as acquaintances being good friends, and God only knows where it will end. Only it won't end - Billy knows that Dom believes it won't. And not one of them would resist that. Even if it wouldn't have been true, they will make it so. It may be contagious.

They all dance, and he watches the lines shift and play, more complex between people who are closer. Only Dom doesn't seem to heed them, kissing Sean's jaw tenderly, and later spinning Elijah and dipping him with the lively music until a flush suffuses the pale skin, even his arms... Billy blinks. Got him doing it now; seeing things he's not supposed to notice. It's a bad idea to forget what he knows about reality. He needs that boundary.

But then Dom is dancing in front of him, wedging thumbs into his beltloops and palms resting against each hip. Dom's nose bumps forward, cold on Billy's neck, but his face slides hotly against Billy's own, leaving a smear of sweat when he has turned to look at something. Soaking everything in, but still not seeing.

And Dom looks Billy in the eyes as they dance, just looks, until Billy breaks away and goes to find another drink, hopefully something with neither clams nor chocolate. Too close, his sensibilities have been screaming. He shushes them, annoyed. What do they know about Dom? Nothing he has learned about human behaviours seems to apply. Dom must be an alien.

"What're you thinkin' about?"

"What planet are you from?"

Dom tilts his head, a smile blooming on his face. "Germany," he says, then crows with laughter. "No! Can I be from one of the moons of Jupiter?"

"If you like."

Toasting with a hearty, "IO!" Dom drains Billy's glass.



When Sean drops Billy off outside his flat, and everyone says goodnight, the opposite door slams too, and Dom is on the kerb beside him.

"I'm staying with m' Billy tonight," he announces, then looks so proud. Billy blinks, pats his shoulder, and heads to unlock the door. Dom follows. "Have you any olives?"

"In the fridge," says Billy, and doesn't inquire. He goes to change and get out the extra blankets. "Bed or sofa?"

"Bed!"

Billy sighs. Frickin' Dominic.

"No, though," says Dom, reading his look, "I'll not put you on the couch. What'd be the point of staying at your house if you aren't there?"

Oh. Oh, no.

"What's wrong?"

"Dommie... this may be out of bounds for me to be saying," (and Dom's eyebrows draw together, a look of, What bounds?), "but I was thinking, and I think there may be something you don't see." He is almost certain at this moment; this is truth, normal, inevitable.

Dom nods slowly. "...The back of my head." He sits on the back of the sofa.

Billy giggles, then bites his tongue. "I meant lines. Lines between people. Like a different line between strangers and acquaintances and friends and family, all those different people with particular ways we're supposed to be acting. The line between me and you," he draws in the air with a finger, something inside him sinking to define it so sharply. "You don't see it, do you?"

Dom's expression is changing, subtly only, and almost too fast to read. But: comprehension, embarrassment, horror, disdain, to contemplation again. Then he smiles, same as ever. "I see a line between we two, Billy." He hops down from his perch, facing him steadily. "The one that goes from here," he places two fingers over is heart, "to here," and traces a line perpendicular to the blue one, touching Billy's chest. "And you're right. I can't always see to tell apart those things you were listing. But I can only be what I am, and act as I feel. And besides, follow lines that separate people? Why?" He steps back.

Billy's mind is whirling. "They're blue. Is yours blue?"

Dom looks at him, that frank gaze locking him in place. "Nn, red. It's red. Where's this blue line, again?" He squints at the space between them.

Billy traces it with his index finder, waist-level and holding.

"Okay," says Dom. He turns his back, clambering agile onto the tall part of the sofa, turning. Gathering himself, he leaps into the air, legs tucked high, a messy jump that doesn't care how it lands. And crashes into Billy, knocking them both to the floor. Dom's hand is curled protectively around the back of Billy's head as they impact, then they lay together breathless for awhile.

Dom's cheek presses against his and moves, a touch bristly. "Well? Did I clear it?" That voice in his ear, low and excited.

"...You did." He did. He did. Cleared it all away. "So now what?" A kind of dazed amazement is taking Billy over.

Dom. Sitting up, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Anything at all."