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monaboyd Nov. 24th, 2003 03:18 pm)
sparklytiara.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Nov. 24th, 2003 03:18 pm)Title: After Falling 4/?
Author: Ami
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R
Summary: He's already fallen. It's getting back up that's the problem.
Disclaimer: Bleh. Is not true. >.<
Author's Notes: I'm thinking that I cannot write Dom. But I'll let you guys be the judge of that.
After Falling - 4
“Take a look at yourself in the mirror, Boyd,” Dom instructed. Sluggishly, Billy slid out of bed, stumbled over to the mirror hanging over the bureau. “Take a very long, very hard look at yourself.”
Billy was pleased to discover that he looked about twice as bad as he felt. “Bleh.” He stuck his tongue out at his reflection.
“Now...would YOU have slept with you last night?”
Billy grimaced at his reflection again. Bloodshot eyes. Rumpled hair sticking out in all directions. Creases from his pillow in brilliant red lines across his face. And was that spit dried in the corner of his mouth? Billy rubbed the back of his hand surreptitiously at the corner of his mouth, groaning. His head hurt. Regular poster boy, he was. “Guess not,” he answered Dom, a tad ruefully, but truthful nonetheless.
“Yeah. Well I wouldn’t’ve either. So that answers your question then, doesn’t it?”
“You didn’t have to put it like THAT, you bloody minger.” Billy scowled at him as best as his pounding head would allow before sinking to the ground. Shit. His legs felt as though they’d turned to gelatin beneath him. There was no way he was ever going to get up again. “M’head hurts.”
“Well, I don’t doubt that.” Dom gave an all-knowing smirk to Billy as he slid out of bed, tennis shoed feet and long legs in rumpled jeans appearing first, followed by an equally rumpled t-shirt proclaiming ‘eat a beaver, save a tree’. Dom stretched and tilted his head. It sounded as though every bone in his body cracked at that maneuver and Billy let out a little whimper of pain. “Poor Billy,” Dom said sympathetically.
“Poor, poor Billy,” Billy agreed from his spot on the floor. He slid further down until he was fully stretched out on the floor. “Oooh,” he groaned again and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight peeking in through the blinds. “Why’d you let me drink so much?”
“Well. You were paying.”
“So if YOU had been paying, you would’ve stopped me?”
“Um. Yeah?”
“Fuck off, Monaghan.”
“That’s nice. And here I was all prepared to make you coffee and bring you aspirin.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late.”
“Doooom.” Billy was not above begging by this point. His head hurt. His body had melted into some unrecognizable goo. And there was something terribly foul tasting lingering in his mouth. “I’d grovel. But I can’t, you know. Move.”
“Pathetic.” Dom nudged Billy’s limp body with the toe of his shoe.
“Did you sleep with your shoes on?”
“Well, you wouldn’t let go of me long enough to get them off. You’re a very clingy sleeper, Bill.”
Oh. Billy decided to shut up then and just...lie there helplessly in pain. Yeah. That sounded about right.
Dom sighed down at him. Without opening his eyes, Billy knew that Dom was shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll bring you something.”
“Thanks. I-,” Billy stopped.
“What?”
“Just...thanks.”
“No problem.”
Billy sighed as he listened to Dom’s footsteps fade away as the other man moved down the hall and the stairs. He’d been about to say, I love you for that. Playfully, teasingly, the way they’d always said it. But he couldn’t say that anymore. Because it wasn’t BillyandDom anymore, they were Billy. And Dom. Dom. And Billy. No longer that rushed, no space, no hyphen, all-one-word expression for the two of them. They were separate now. Apart. On completely different sides of the planet, even though Dom was now downstairs, puttering about Billy’s kitchen.
Billy let a soft moan of pain, gritting his teeth against it. Suddenly, everything hurt even more.
---
Slowly, painfully, Billy dragged himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the dresser. A drawer knob poked painfully into his spine and he fidgeted, looking woefully up at Dom. “Can I have that coffee now?” he asked Dom, his voice low and weary.
“Yeah.” Dom thrust the coffee at Billy, drops of liquid flying over the edge and splattering down onto Billy’s denim-clad thigh. “Oops. Sorry.”
Dom moved as though to get a towel but Billy shook his head at him, his eyes closed. “Don’t bother.” The pain in his head made every other annoyance weak in comparison and he only traced the wet spot on his thigh with the tip of one finger before lifting the cup to his lips and sipping weakly, his eyes still closed.
Dom collapsed on the floor in front of him. Billy popped one eye open and watched as Dom pulled his legs beneath and sat up, looking at him expectantly. “What?”
“Don’t you want to know what else happened last night?” Dom gave him a scary sort of grin, one that said he had loads and loads of potential blackmail and was just *waiting* to do Billy in with it.
“Not particularly.”
“Good, I’ll tell you.” Dom rocked back on his feet with a certain sense of glee and Billy would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t thought it’d irritate his head even more. “You sang.”
Billy groaned and took a gulp of coffee. Dom’s words stirred a vague, alcohol-clouded memory. “What did I sing?”
“Celine Dion.”
Fuck. Well, there went any masculine testosterone-filled image he’d ever had.
Dom was fairly leering at Billy by now. “And then you did an encore.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s not helping my headache any.” Billy closed his eyes again and took another swallow of coffee. The burning sensation all down his throat didn’t help either.
“Spice Girls.”
“I DID NOT!” Billy’s eyes flew open and he stared at Dom stupidly, shocked and aching.
“You’re right, you didn’t.” Dom was speaking frankly now and his eyes held Billy’s with a clear, open gaze. He couldn’t hide the upturning of his lips though. “I’m a liar.”
“Big fat ugly one at that,” Billy muttered, slumping down against the dresser, his coffee cup balanced precariously on his knee. Dom stuck his tongue out at him. Billy contemplated reaching out and tugging the damn thing out by its root, but decided against that. Too messy. Anyway, that tongue had proved to be quite useful on occasions in the past... Billy’s ears burned at that thought and he slumped lower yet. Not only was he sentimental and a Celine Dion fan, he was a pervert as well.
Billy supposed he could sink lower, but he didn’t choose to go there.
“Do you remember what happened when we got home?” Dom was giving him a curious look now, his head tilted slightly (like a puppy, Billy found himself thinking vaguely) and his eyes soft.
“I didn’t throw up in your bed, did I? Because if that’s why you slept in mine-,”
“NO! No, that’s not what happened, it...” Dom paused, sighed. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”
Billy raised an eyebrow at him, took another slow sip of coffee. Dom was looking so hopefully at him, so confusedly...there were vague stirrings of a memory, but nothing monumental. Billy frowned, shook his head slightly. “Nope. Why?”
“No...no reason.” Dom’s face was white, pained for a second, but the expression cleared and he beamed at Billy. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna go make some breakfast, you want anything?”
Billy made some sort of horrible noise at Dom in response and the other man laughed before turning to leave. He was halfway out the door of the bedroom when Billy remembered - “Hey. Dom.”
“Yeah?” Dom turned slightly, throwing a backward glance over his shoulder at Billy.
“What’s with the peanut butter?”
A small grin traced its way across Dom’s face. “I hate to say it Bill, but...your cooking is fucking shit.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Get outta here,” he managed to croak indignantly at Dom and for lack of better things to do, threw his now empty coffee cup at Dom’s head with as much strength as his hung-over self could muster.
Dom dodged it, snickering, and ran down the stairs, as though he actually expected Billy to be able to jump up and run after him. Fat chance of *that*, Billy thought, a bit resentfully, and hung his head, cradling it gently in his slightly trembling hands.
The coffee cup fell to the carpeted floor, a hollow thumping sound that reverberated in Billy’s mind, and a few drops of liquid spilled and soaked into the carpet.
---
Of course he remembered last night.
He just hadn’t chosen to tell Dom.
He was a coward plain and simple and Billy had absolutely no trouble admitting that to himself as he sunk beneath the warm still waters of the bathtub and blew bubbles mournfully upwards. He could hear the sound of water sloshing against the sides of the tub, a dull pounding in his ears. And his head still hurt like a fucking bitch.
Billy groaned beneath the water, sending out a sudden rush of bubbles before jerking himself back to the surface. Water splashed over the rim and onto the floor, soaking the bathmat and the clothes he’d kicked off and left lying on the floor. He peered curiously at them and shrugged. They’d have to get washed sooner or later. Preferably sooner. Billy wrinkled his nose, slightly disgusted. For someone whose existence had dwindled down to the pursuit of cleanliness, his clothing was *awfully* putrid.
He sighed as he cupped a handful of water and splashed it up over his face, repeating the gesture several times as though the warm trickle of water down his back would suddenly reveal answers to him. Answers that he didn’t think he really wanted to know. Answers to questions that he didn’t want to know he had. He could hear the television blaring on the first floor, in the room almost directly below him. Dom was watching TV. For a moment, Billy fancied dumping the whole tub over the edge and seeing what Dom would do when the water leaked through the floor, dripped onto his head.
Probably blink and shift over to the other cushion.
Another sigh and Billy plunged under the water again.
He opened his eyes there and then closed them immediately again, lifting his head enough that his nose skimmed the surface. A deep breath. The hollow sound of sloshing water in his ears. The vibrations of the television - how loud did Dom have that thing, anyway? Dom.
He was beginning to get rather sick of Dom.
Or actually, he was beginning to get rather sick of the way he was unable to distance himself from Dom. Of the way he’d been unable to forget Dom and the way he’d so easily allowed him back into his life.
I shouldn’t have let Dom come, Billy told himself now, submerged save for his nose in the bathwater. I should have told him to book a hotel, that I was busy, that I didn’t want to see him - I should have told him *anything* but that would be fine. Because if I had told him that..
...things would be different.
It was a stupid thing to think, Billy recognized that immediately. His logic made no sense, not even to himself. But he’d been doing *fine* (yes, FINE, he and Frodo and the cleaning) had been doing perfectly fine. And then he’d tripped up over himself and let Dom back in. And now he was back to square one.
But not really.
It was worse than before. Because before, when he and Dom were friends, it was teasing and laughter and long conversations about nothing or everything. When he and Dom were almost-more, it was half-flirtatious banter and promising smiles and even more promising eyes. And then it wasn’t almost-more but completely more and everything was perfect, kisses, laughter, sex, and they had talked, they had really talked and it hadn’t been whatever movie was on TV that night and peanut butter sandwiches and frozen dinners.
Billy wondered if one could drown one’s self in the bathtub.
It was worse than before because Billy could remember. He could remember *everything*. He could remember the way Dom’s eyes crinkled when he laughed (really truly *laughed*, not the half-smiles and short chuckles he gave Billy now) and the way he waved his hands when he spoke and the way his t-shirt bunched up over his stomach when he slept and the way his hair stood on end when he first woke up and exactly what Dom’s early-morning and good-night and every second in-between kisses had tasted like, felt like. Billy could remember it all and what was worse, he missed it.
He missed Dom’s legs tangled up with his beneath the sheets and Dom’s lips against his and Dom’s slightly embarrassed, impish grin when he’d done something stupid or absolutely mad or something that would have Billy rolling his eyes in exasperation before tugging Dom close and tucking a soft kiss behind his ear. He missed Dom’s whispers in the middle of the night and Dom’s tirades over missing socks in the laundry and coffee filters that didn’t filter and the sound of Dom’s muffled laughter against Billy’s shoulder when one of their group did something particularly stupid. He even missed the way Dom always kneed him in the stomach when he rolled over and the way Dom was chronically late or chronically early, but never on time.
Billy lifted his beginning to wrinkle hands and covered his face. He was getting old and sentimental. Stupid, really. If he was going to get sentimental about anyone, it ought to be...well, anyone but Dom. Because whatever he and Dom had had was gone. Completely and totally gone. It had been replaced by something new and uncomfortable, something rather like the Christmas when his sister had forced him to bond (so she had said, but by which she had really meant, get out of my hair for a few hours) with her new boyfriend. A nice enough guy, a guy he probably would have been able to had a beer with or something if hadn’t been every time Billy had looked at him, he’d thought: this man has had his tongue in my sister’s mouth and has probably also seen her naked.
Only Dom hadn’t been kissing Billy’s sister (Billy almost wished he’d had, it would have made things a lot less complicated). Dom had been kissing Billy and not only had he had his tongue in Billy’s mouth, he’d seen him naked and that made the boyfriend scenario pale (think albino, Billy thought and then rolled his eyes at himself) in comparison.
With a deep breath, Billy suddenly emerged from beneath the water, again splashing water over the sides of the tub and soaking bathmat and clothing further. Bath hadn’t helped his fucking head, had only made it worse what with Dom and more Dom. He wrapped a towel around his waist, made his way to the mirror and rubbed away at the steam. And didn’t he look lovely, all nice and hung-over? Billy grimaced at his reflection and turned back to the bathtub, leaning over to pull the drain.
He should probably tell Dom that he remembered what had happened last night. It was the right thing to do (and since when had Billy worried about the right thing?). Maybe it would open up a whole new pathway to discussion and they would reach whatever end they were striving for. Maybe they would work everything out. Maybe...
Yeah, and maybe there’d be a pony too.
Billy snorted, slightly disgusted with himself, and made his way into the bedroom. Dom was sitting on his bed.
Billy hadn’t even heard the TV turn off.
---
“What do you want?” Billy threw out at Dom by way of greeting as he made his way over to the bureau, opening drawers and shutting them at random. Dom didn’t answer right away and desperately, Billy grabbed at some clothing, hoping that they gave some semblance of order.
“You don’t remember anything?” Dom spoke at last, averting his eyes (was that a good thing or a bad, Billy wondered) as Billy dressed.
“Nope.” Liar. Billy averted his eyes in turn, focusing on the buttons of his shirt as though they were the most fascinating articles he’d ever laid eyes on. And then, somehow, he was left with three extra buttons but no extra shirt with which to button them. He sighed and began unbuttoning.
“Pathetic.” Dom hopped off the bed and stood in front of Billy, tugging at the collar of his shirt until it met his satisfaction. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to button from the bottom up?” Dom’s fingers, slim and quick, moved swiftly up Billy’s shirt, buttoning as they went. “There you go!” A pat on the shoulder.
A *pat*.
Way to make a guy feel all of three years old, Dom.
“Would you quit harassing me about last night? I *told* you I don’t remember anything.” The right amount of exasperation, annoyance, good, very good. Billy turned away from Dom, toward the mirror. His eyes met Dom’s in mirror. Bad, very bad. Billy averted his eyes again, decided to concentrate on his shoes.
“Are you going somewhere?” Dom changed the subject, watching as Billy stumbled about in an attempt to get his shoe on before finally sitting down on the bed (*after* first whacking his head against the bureau, of course. Smooth, Boyd, smooth).
“Um. Wasn’t planning on it.” Then why was he putting his shoes on? All bad, all very, very bad.
“Oh. I thought maybe you were going, um, outside.”
“Why would I be going outside?”
“Er. I dunno. Thought you might like to, um,” very low, very quickly, “bury your fish?”
“What?” Billy looked at Dom, dumbly. “Bury my fish?”
“Well I don’t THINK its supposed to be floating upside down like that, but I could be wrong, I’ve never kept fish before!”
“You’ve killed my fish?!”
“NO! I just...tapped on the bowl and it kinda...flopped over!”
“YOU’VE KILLED MY FISH!”
“NO! It was already dying, I just...just...”
Billy stared. “Fish killer.”
“I’ll help you bury it,” Dom offered. His eyes were fastened to the ground, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked like a repentant little schoolboy, Billy thought irritably. With his hand caught in the goddamn cookie jar.
“You don’t bury a fish.”
“Well, you can’t flush a fish named Frodo, Elijah wouldn’t like it.”
“ELIJAH WOULDN’T LIKE IT?!” Billy honestly could not believe the things that left Dom’s mouth sometimes. “It’s a bloody goldfish! He’d probably FRY it if he knew how to use a goddamn frying pan! Are you insane?!”
“I’m sorry! But you can’t just toss a fish that’s been named after Frodo! It’d be like...like...tossing ME down the bloody toilet!”
“You ARE insane.”
“Billy.” Dom’s lower lip was begin to jut out, his eyes were beginning to take on that pleading look. It was all a load of shit, however, because Billy knew that despite whatever methods Dom used to get his own way, he’d get it. Not because he was a success at pouting but because he was so damn annoying until he got it.
“Fine. We’ll bury the fish.”
“I’ll make him a marker. You find something to put the body in and a trowel,” Dom instructed.
Fantastic. Now Billy would have a lovely little fish grave in his backyard. Just fan-fuckin’-*tastic*.
---
“I can’t believe you’re making me bury a goldfish.”
“I can’t believe you’re not upset over the fact your pet has died.”
“I didn’t want a goldfish. I wanted a dog.”
“Then why did you go out and buy yourself a goldfish?”
“Cheaper.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a fish killer.”
Silence from Dom. Billy gave him an askance look from where he was kneeling beside him. He was cradling a matchbox in his hands, inside of which, resting on a bed of cotton balls, was Frodo’s limp body. Next to him, Dom was digging away doggedly at a cold clump of dirt.
“How deep are you going to make that?” Billy eyed the hole Dom was digging warily. “Don’t dig up my whole yard.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m digging it deep enough.” Dom frowned up at him before sitting back on his heels and scratching at his cheek thoughtfully. A streak of dirt appeared where his fingers had been and he surveyed the results of his digging meditatively. Finally it was pronounced perfect and Billy was instructed to lower the makeshift casket into the grave.
There was a long moment of silence as they looked at the matchbox, resting uncomfortably in the earth, the garish blues and reds glaring up at them both. “I feel like we should say a few words,” Billy murmured, finally.
“It was your fish. You say something.”
“Um. Like what?”
“Like how he always ate all his fish food like a good little boy and how he was named for a...a...Elijah and how he will always live on in our hearts.”
“You’ve just gone and said all the good bits.”
“Oops.”
“Fish killer.”
“Would you stop it?! Here.” Dom hand Billy the trowel. “Just shovel the dirt back over it and pat it down smooth. We’ll have an, um...a memorial service later. It looks like its about to rain.” Billy stifled a smile at Dom’s mention of a memorial service. Only Dom would think to memorialize a goldfish. Quickly, gracelessly, he dumped a load of dirt over the matchbox, slapped at it with the back of the trowel, covering the last traces of red just as the first raindrops began to fall.
“Come on. We’re gonna get soaked.” Dom tugged at Billy’s arms, jerking him up into a standing position. Billy was still for a moment, looking down at the tiny grave he’d just help create, the little marker made out of the cardboard of a cereal box wobbling pitifully at its head. Dom’s face fell. “Shit. You’re not gonna start cry now, are you?”
“No. Its only a fish.’” Billy sighed as the rain began falling faster, plastering his clothing to his body and turning the ground to mud at his feet. He took a step forward, splattering mud over his pant legs. He was going to need another bath if he kept this up. “I liked him though.” It wasn’t a terribly articulate thing to say. It wasn’t even close to sentimental. But it was enough that Dom felt guilty again and slipped up close to him, resting his hand on his shoulder and garbling out some sort of apology.
But Billy didn’t think he was talking so much about the fish anymore.
And he didn’t think Dom was either as clumsily, they moved toward each other, into each other’s space, and in the same fumbling motion, found each other’s lips; found them the same as remembered, and tasting slightly of rain.
Author: Ami
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R
Summary: He's already fallen. It's getting back up that's the problem.
Disclaimer: Bleh. Is not true. >.<
Author's Notes: I'm thinking that I cannot write Dom. But I'll let you guys be the judge of that.
After Falling - 4
“Take a look at yourself in the mirror, Boyd,” Dom instructed. Sluggishly, Billy slid out of bed, stumbled over to the mirror hanging over the bureau. “Take a very long, very hard look at yourself.”
Billy was pleased to discover that he looked about twice as bad as he felt. “Bleh.” He stuck his tongue out at his reflection.
“Now...would YOU have slept with you last night?”
Billy grimaced at his reflection again. Bloodshot eyes. Rumpled hair sticking out in all directions. Creases from his pillow in brilliant red lines across his face. And was that spit dried in the corner of his mouth? Billy rubbed the back of his hand surreptitiously at the corner of his mouth, groaning. His head hurt. Regular poster boy, he was. “Guess not,” he answered Dom, a tad ruefully, but truthful nonetheless.
“Yeah. Well I wouldn’t’ve either. So that answers your question then, doesn’t it?”
“You didn’t have to put it like THAT, you bloody minger.” Billy scowled at him as best as his pounding head would allow before sinking to the ground. Shit. His legs felt as though they’d turned to gelatin beneath him. There was no way he was ever going to get up again. “M’head hurts.”
“Well, I don’t doubt that.” Dom gave an all-knowing smirk to Billy as he slid out of bed, tennis shoed feet and long legs in rumpled jeans appearing first, followed by an equally rumpled t-shirt proclaiming ‘eat a beaver, save a tree’. Dom stretched and tilted his head. It sounded as though every bone in his body cracked at that maneuver and Billy let out a little whimper of pain. “Poor Billy,” Dom said sympathetically.
“Poor, poor Billy,” Billy agreed from his spot on the floor. He slid further down until he was fully stretched out on the floor. “Oooh,” he groaned again and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight peeking in through the blinds. “Why’d you let me drink so much?”
“Well. You were paying.”
“So if YOU had been paying, you would’ve stopped me?”
“Um. Yeah?”
“Fuck off, Monaghan.”
“That’s nice. And here I was all prepared to make you coffee and bring you aspirin.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late.”
“Doooom.” Billy was not above begging by this point. His head hurt. His body had melted into some unrecognizable goo. And there was something terribly foul tasting lingering in his mouth. “I’d grovel. But I can’t, you know. Move.”
“Pathetic.” Dom nudged Billy’s limp body with the toe of his shoe.
“Did you sleep with your shoes on?”
“Well, you wouldn’t let go of me long enough to get them off. You’re a very clingy sleeper, Bill.”
Oh. Billy decided to shut up then and just...lie there helplessly in pain. Yeah. That sounded about right.
Dom sighed down at him. Without opening his eyes, Billy knew that Dom was shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll bring you something.”
“Thanks. I-,” Billy stopped.
“What?”
“Just...thanks.”
“No problem.”
Billy sighed as he listened to Dom’s footsteps fade away as the other man moved down the hall and the stairs. He’d been about to say, I love you for that. Playfully, teasingly, the way they’d always said it. But he couldn’t say that anymore. Because it wasn’t BillyandDom anymore, they were Billy. And Dom. Dom. And Billy. No longer that rushed, no space, no hyphen, all-one-word expression for the two of them. They were separate now. Apart. On completely different sides of the planet, even though Dom was now downstairs, puttering about Billy’s kitchen.
Billy let a soft moan of pain, gritting his teeth against it. Suddenly, everything hurt even more.
---
Slowly, painfully, Billy dragged himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the dresser. A drawer knob poked painfully into his spine and he fidgeted, looking woefully up at Dom. “Can I have that coffee now?” he asked Dom, his voice low and weary.
“Yeah.” Dom thrust the coffee at Billy, drops of liquid flying over the edge and splattering down onto Billy’s denim-clad thigh. “Oops. Sorry.”
Dom moved as though to get a towel but Billy shook his head at him, his eyes closed. “Don’t bother.” The pain in his head made every other annoyance weak in comparison and he only traced the wet spot on his thigh with the tip of one finger before lifting the cup to his lips and sipping weakly, his eyes still closed.
Dom collapsed on the floor in front of him. Billy popped one eye open and watched as Dom pulled his legs beneath and sat up, looking at him expectantly. “What?”
“Don’t you want to know what else happened last night?” Dom gave him a scary sort of grin, one that said he had loads and loads of potential blackmail and was just *waiting* to do Billy in with it.
“Not particularly.”
“Good, I’ll tell you.” Dom rocked back on his feet with a certain sense of glee and Billy would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t thought it’d irritate his head even more. “You sang.”
Billy groaned and took a gulp of coffee. Dom’s words stirred a vague, alcohol-clouded memory. “What did I sing?”
“Celine Dion.”
Fuck. Well, there went any masculine testosterone-filled image he’d ever had.
Dom was fairly leering at Billy by now. “And then you did an encore.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s not helping my headache any.” Billy closed his eyes again and took another swallow of coffee. The burning sensation all down his throat didn’t help either.
“Spice Girls.”
“I DID NOT!” Billy’s eyes flew open and he stared at Dom stupidly, shocked and aching.
“You’re right, you didn’t.” Dom was speaking frankly now and his eyes held Billy’s with a clear, open gaze. He couldn’t hide the upturning of his lips though. “I’m a liar.”
“Big fat ugly one at that,” Billy muttered, slumping down against the dresser, his coffee cup balanced precariously on his knee. Dom stuck his tongue out at him. Billy contemplated reaching out and tugging the damn thing out by its root, but decided against that. Too messy. Anyway, that tongue had proved to be quite useful on occasions in the past... Billy’s ears burned at that thought and he slumped lower yet. Not only was he sentimental and a Celine Dion fan, he was a pervert as well.
Billy supposed he could sink lower, but he didn’t choose to go there.
“Do you remember what happened when we got home?” Dom was giving him a curious look now, his head tilted slightly (like a puppy, Billy found himself thinking vaguely) and his eyes soft.
“I didn’t throw up in your bed, did I? Because if that’s why you slept in mine-,”
“NO! No, that’s not what happened, it...” Dom paused, sighed. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”
Billy raised an eyebrow at him, took another slow sip of coffee. Dom was looking so hopefully at him, so confusedly...there were vague stirrings of a memory, but nothing monumental. Billy frowned, shook his head slightly. “Nope. Why?”
“No...no reason.” Dom’s face was white, pained for a second, but the expression cleared and he beamed at Billy. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna go make some breakfast, you want anything?”
Billy made some sort of horrible noise at Dom in response and the other man laughed before turning to leave. He was halfway out the door of the bedroom when Billy remembered - “Hey. Dom.”
“Yeah?” Dom turned slightly, throwing a backward glance over his shoulder at Billy.
“What’s with the peanut butter?”
A small grin traced its way across Dom’s face. “I hate to say it Bill, but...your cooking is fucking shit.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Get outta here,” he managed to croak indignantly at Dom and for lack of better things to do, threw his now empty coffee cup at Dom’s head with as much strength as his hung-over self could muster.
Dom dodged it, snickering, and ran down the stairs, as though he actually expected Billy to be able to jump up and run after him. Fat chance of *that*, Billy thought, a bit resentfully, and hung his head, cradling it gently in his slightly trembling hands.
The coffee cup fell to the carpeted floor, a hollow thumping sound that reverberated in Billy’s mind, and a few drops of liquid spilled and soaked into the carpet.
---
Of course he remembered last night.
He just hadn’t chosen to tell Dom.
He was a coward plain and simple and Billy had absolutely no trouble admitting that to himself as he sunk beneath the warm still waters of the bathtub and blew bubbles mournfully upwards. He could hear the sound of water sloshing against the sides of the tub, a dull pounding in his ears. And his head still hurt like a fucking bitch.
Billy groaned beneath the water, sending out a sudden rush of bubbles before jerking himself back to the surface. Water splashed over the rim and onto the floor, soaking the bathmat and the clothes he’d kicked off and left lying on the floor. He peered curiously at them and shrugged. They’d have to get washed sooner or later. Preferably sooner. Billy wrinkled his nose, slightly disgusted. For someone whose existence had dwindled down to the pursuit of cleanliness, his clothing was *awfully* putrid.
He sighed as he cupped a handful of water and splashed it up over his face, repeating the gesture several times as though the warm trickle of water down his back would suddenly reveal answers to him. Answers that he didn’t think he really wanted to know. Answers to questions that he didn’t want to know he had. He could hear the television blaring on the first floor, in the room almost directly below him. Dom was watching TV. For a moment, Billy fancied dumping the whole tub over the edge and seeing what Dom would do when the water leaked through the floor, dripped onto his head.
Probably blink and shift over to the other cushion.
Another sigh and Billy plunged under the water again.
He opened his eyes there and then closed them immediately again, lifting his head enough that his nose skimmed the surface. A deep breath. The hollow sound of sloshing water in his ears. The vibrations of the television - how loud did Dom have that thing, anyway? Dom.
He was beginning to get rather sick of Dom.
Or actually, he was beginning to get rather sick of the way he was unable to distance himself from Dom. Of the way he’d been unable to forget Dom and the way he’d so easily allowed him back into his life.
I shouldn’t have let Dom come, Billy told himself now, submerged save for his nose in the bathwater. I should have told him to book a hotel, that I was busy, that I didn’t want to see him - I should have told him *anything* but that would be fine. Because if I had told him that..
...things would be different.
It was a stupid thing to think, Billy recognized that immediately. His logic made no sense, not even to himself. But he’d been doing *fine* (yes, FINE, he and Frodo and the cleaning) had been doing perfectly fine. And then he’d tripped up over himself and let Dom back in. And now he was back to square one.
But not really.
It was worse than before. Because before, when he and Dom were friends, it was teasing and laughter and long conversations about nothing or everything. When he and Dom were almost-more, it was half-flirtatious banter and promising smiles and even more promising eyes. And then it wasn’t almost-more but completely more and everything was perfect, kisses, laughter, sex, and they had talked, they had really talked and it hadn’t been whatever movie was on TV that night and peanut butter sandwiches and frozen dinners.
Billy wondered if one could drown one’s self in the bathtub.
It was worse than before because Billy could remember. He could remember *everything*. He could remember the way Dom’s eyes crinkled when he laughed (really truly *laughed*, not the half-smiles and short chuckles he gave Billy now) and the way he waved his hands when he spoke and the way his t-shirt bunched up over his stomach when he slept and the way his hair stood on end when he first woke up and exactly what Dom’s early-morning and good-night and every second in-between kisses had tasted like, felt like. Billy could remember it all and what was worse, he missed it.
He missed Dom’s legs tangled up with his beneath the sheets and Dom’s lips against his and Dom’s slightly embarrassed, impish grin when he’d done something stupid or absolutely mad or something that would have Billy rolling his eyes in exasperation before tugging Dom close and tucking a soft kiss behind his ear. He missed Dom’s whispers in the middle of the night and Dom’s tirades over missing socks in the laundry and coffee filters that didn’t filter and the sound of Dom’s muffled laughter against Billy’s shoulder when one of their group did something particularly stupid. He even missed the way Dom always kneed him in the stomach when he rolled over and the way Dom was chronically late or chronically early, but never on time.
Billy lifted his beginning to wrinkle hands and covered his face. He was getting old and sentimental. Stupid, really. If he was going to get sentimental about anyone, it ought to be...well, anyone but Dom. Because whatever he and Dom had had was gone. Completely and totally gone. It had been replaced by something new and uncomfortable, something rather like the Christmas when his sister had forced him to bond (so she had said, but by which she had really meant, get out of my hair for a few hours) with her new boyfriend. A nice enough guy, a guy he probably would have been able to had a beer with or something if hadn’t been every time Billy had looked at him, he’d thought: this man has had his tongue in my sister’s mouth and has probably also seen her naked.
Only Dom hadn’t been kissing Billy’s sister (Billy almost wished he’d had, it would have made things a lot less complicated). Dom had been kissing Billy and not only had he had his tongue in Billy’s mouth, he’d seen him naked and that made the boyfriend scenario pale (think albino, Billy thought and then rolled his eyes at himself) in comparison.
With a deep breath, Billy suddenly emerged from beneath the water, again splashing water over the sides of the tub and soaking bathmat and clothing further. Bath hadn’t helped his fucking head, had only made it worse what with Dom and more Dom. He wrapped a towel around his waist, made his way to the mirror and rubbed away at the steam. And didn’t he look lovely, all nice and hung-over? Billy grimaced at his reflection and turned back to the bathtub, leaning over to pull the drain.
He should probably tell Dom that he remembered what had happened last night. It was the right thing to do (and since when had Billy worried about the right thing?). Maybe it would open up a whole new pathway to discussion and they would reach whatever end they were striving for. Maybe they would work everything out. Maybe...
Yeah, and maybe there’d be a pony too.
Billy snorted, slightly disgusted with himself, and made his way into the bedroom. Dom was sitting on his bed.
Billy hadn’t even heard the TV turn off.
---
“What do you want?” Billy threw out at Dom by way of greeting as he made his way over to the bureau, opening drawers and shutting them at random. Dom didn’t answer right away and desperately, Billy grabbed at some clothing, hoping that they gave some semblance of order.
“You don’t remember anything?” Dom spoke at last, averting his eyes (was that a good thing or a bad, Billy wondered) as Billy dressed.
“Nope.” Liar. Billy averted his eyes in turn, focusing on the buttons of his shirt as though they were the most fascinating articles he’d ever laid eyes on. And then, somehow, he was left with three extra buttons but no extra shirt with which to button them. He sighed and began unbuttoning.
“Pathetic.” Dom hopped off the bed and stood in front of Billy, tugging at the collar of his shirt until it met his satisfaction. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to button from the bottom up?” Dom’s fingers, slim and quick, moved swiftly up Billy’s shirt, buttoning as they went. “There you go!” A pat on the shoulder.
A *pat*.
Way to make a guy feel all of three years old, Dom.
“Would you quit harassing me about last night? I *told* you I don’t remember anything.” The right amount of exasperation, annoyance, good, very good. Billy turned away from Dom, toward the mirror. His eyes met Dom’s in mirror. Bad, very bad. Billy averted his eyes again, decided to concentrate on his shoes.
“Are you going somewhere?” Dom changed the subject, watching as Billy stumbled about in an attempt to get his shoe on before finally sitting down on the bed (*after* first whacking his head against the bureau, of course. Smooth, Boyd, smooth).
“Um. Wasn’t planning on it.” Then why was he putting his shoes on? All bad, all very, very bad.
“Oh. I thought maybe you were going, um, outside.”
“Why would I be going outside?”
“Er. I dunno. Thought you might like to, um,” very low, very quickly, “bury your fish?”
“What?” Billy looked at Dom, dumbly. “Bury my fish?”
“Well I don’t THINK its supposed to be floating upside down like that, but I could be wrong, I’ve never kept fish before!”
“You’ve killed my fish?!”
“NO! I just...tapped on the bowl and it kinda...flopped over!”
“YOU’VE KILLED MY FISH!”
“NO! It was already dying, I just...just...”
Billy stared. “Fish killer.”
“I’ll help you bury it,” Dom offered. His eyes were fastened to the ground, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked like a repentant little schoolboy, Billy thought irritably. With his hand caught in the goddamn cookie jar.
“You don’t bury a fish.”
“Well, you can’t flush a fish named Frodo, Elijah wouldn’t like it.”
“ELIJAH WOULDN’T LIKE IT?!” Billy honestly could not believe the things that left Dom’s mouth sometimes. “It’s a bloody goldfish! He’d probably FRY it if he knew how to use a goddamn frying pan! Are you insane?!”
“I’m sorry! But you can’t just toss a fish that’s been named after Frodo! It’d be like...like...tossing ME down the bloody toilet!”
“You ARE insane.”
“Billy.” Dom’s lower lip was begin to jut out, his eyes were beginning to take on that pleading look. It was all a load of shit, however, because Billy knew that despite whatever methods Dom used to get his own way, he’d get it. Not because he was a success at pouting but because he was so damn annoying until he got it.
“Fine. We’ll bury the fish.”
“I’ll make him a marker. You find something to put the body in and a trowel,” Dom instructed.
Fantastic. Now Billy would have a lovely little fish grave in his backyard. Just fan-fuckin’-*tastic*.
---
“I can’t believe you’re making me bury a goldfish.”
“I can’t believe you’re not upset over the fact your pet has died.”
“I didn’t want a goldfish. I wanted a dog.”
“Then why did you go out and buy yourself a goldfish?”
“Cheaper.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a fish killer.”
Silence from Dom. Billy gave him an askance look from where he was kneeling beside him. He was cradling a matchbox in his hands, inside of which, resting on a bed of cotton balls, was Frodo’s limp body. Next to him, Dom was digging away doggedly at a cold clump of dirt.
“How deep are you going to make that?” Billy eyed the hole Dom was digging warily. “Don’t dig up my whole yard.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m digging it deep enough.” Dom frowned up at him before sitting back on his heels and scratching at his cheek thoughtfully. A streak of dirt appeared where his fingers had been and he surveyed the results of his digging meditatively. Finally it was pronounced perfect and Billy was instructed to lower the makeshift casket into the grave.
There was a long moment of silence as they looked at the matchbox, resting uncomfortably in the earth, the garish blues and reds glaring up at them both. “I feel like we should say a few words,” Billy murmured, finally.
“It was your fish. You say something.”
“Um. Like what?”
“Like how he always ate all his fish food like a good little boy and how he was named for a...a...Elijah and how he will always live on in our hearts.”
“You’ve just gone and said all the good bits.”
“Oops.”
“Fish killer.”
“Would you stop it?! Here.” Dom hand Billy the trowel. “Just shovel the dirt back over it and pat it down smooth. We’ll have an, um...a memorial service later. It looks like its about to rain.” Billy stifled a smile at Dom’s mention of a memorial service. Only Dom would think to memorialize a goldfish. Quickly, gracelessly, he dumped a load of dirt over the matchbox, slapped at it with the back of the trowel, covering the last traces of red just as the first raindrops began to fall.
“Come on. We’re gonna get soaked.” Dom tugged at Billy’s arms, jerking him up into a standing position. Billy was still for a moment, looking down at the tiny grave he’d just help create, the little marker made out of the cardboard of a cereal box wobbling pitifully at its head. Dom’s face fell. “Shit. You’re not gonna start cry now, are you?”
“No. Its only a fish.’” Billy sighed as the rain began falling faster, plastering his clothing to his body and turning the ground to mud at his feet. He took a step forward, splattering mud over his pant legs. He was going to need another bath if he kept this up. “I liked him though.” It wasn’t a terribly articulate thing to say. It wasn’t even close to sentimental. But it was enough that Dom felt guilty again and slipped up close to him, resting his hand on his shoulder and garbling out some sort of apology.
But Billy didn’t think he was talking so much about the fish anymore.
And he didn’t think Dom was either as clumsily, they moved toward each other, into each other’s space, and in the same fumbling motion, found each other’s lips; found them the same as remembered, and tasting slightly of rain.
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(And if what you're doing is 'trying' a Dommie POV, I guess that makes me 'floundering' with it :p).
Oh, you are TOO kind, I ♥ you!