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monaboyd Aug. 7th, 2004 12:38 pm)
semaphore27.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Aug. 7th, 2004 12:38 pm)Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: R, for naughty touching
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found can be read at Caraidean). Things are going to be all right again.
Feedback: Always loved and appreciated.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Part 4
Billy’s grown accustomed, in the middle of the night, to hearing Dom’s bare feet shuffle across the hardwood floors, his muffled curses as he bumps into one obstacle or another on his way, followed by the sound of the refrigerator door opening, then shutting again. He’ll half wake, not opening his eyes, merely shifting into the warm space where Dom’s body has been--keeping that hollow warm, though he knows, most likely, that Dom will not return to him, not for hours, at least. Not until the time Billy would usually awaken naturally.
There’s an unspoken understanding between them that they’ll both pretend Dom’s been there all along.
Dom’s still too uncomfortable to sleep well, Billy knows, even with the extra pillows. He can’t lie on his stomach, the way he likes. Now and then Billy wakes in the night merely from the fact of Dom lying so terribly still by his side, in a vain attempt not to disturb him—except that the Dom he’s accustomed to sleeping with moves constantly, and Billy (who generally sleeps deeply in whatever position), misses the way Dom once would curl ever-more-tightly into him, until many nights Billy woke to find himself sprawled out atop Dom’s body, his nose in Dom’s clean soft hair, rising and falling with Dom’s slow, deep nocturnal breathing.
Dom always kisses him softly before he leaves, but the fact remains that he goes anyway, and Billy’s not precisely certain what that means.
There’s a clatter and a crash from the kitchen, then a curse that’s definitely far from muttered. Billy’s out the door and halfway across the lounge without thinking, then inside the kitchen in a half a dozen steps more.
Dom’s sitting on the floor in a puddle of spilt milk that glitters, here and there, with shards of glittering glass. He glances up, red-faced—or as red-faced as he’s capable of being, given his current state of pallor. “Only wanted something to drink,” Dom asks rhetorically. “Is that really too bloody much to hope for?”
“Operator error?” Billy asks, then curses himself silently. That’s one of Elijah’s favorite phrases. Dom misses Elijah desperately, he knows, and wants more than anything to ring him. Billy catches him picking up, then setting down, the telephone more often than Billy can fully comprehend.
“Fell on my arse,” Dom tells him.
“I can see that. Want a hand up?”
“Yeah.” Dom looks away from him. “I s’pose. In a minute.” He glances, briefly, at Billy’s face. “Toss me a towel or something, won’t you? I want to get this mopped up before you try to come wading through, Bills.”
“Dom, you don’t have to…” Billy begins.
Dom’s look turns to one of pure stubbornness. “Yeah. I do. Made a hell of a mess, and I’d like to take care of it, if you don’t mind.” He shifts around awkwardly, until he’s on his knees, his good hand stretched out for the tea-towel Billy unearths from the bottom of a drawer. He finds a pail in the broom-cupboard.
He’d like to take the towel out of Dom’s hands and do the work for him, but something in the look of Dom’s bowed head seems forbidding.
“Even the crown of your head looks stubborn,” Billy tells him.
Dom doesn’t answer, only continues, doggedly, to mop at the white puddle on the floor, wringing out the cloth as best he can, one-handedly, until the worst of the mess is cleared away. Billy leans forward to help him to his feet, only Dom’s pulled himself up already, against the edge of the worktop.
“Fetch me the broom?” he asks.
“Dommie, I…”
“Just fetch me the fucking broom won’t you, Bills?” Dom’s voice sounds more like Charlie’s than his own, tense and more-than-slightly irritated, though Billy knows well enough it’s not with him.
“If that’s the way you want it, then.” Billy shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Dom performs his sweeping a little too emphatically, moving the dustpan Billy’s also fetched for him into place with his feet.
“Good use of those football skills,” Billy tells him, trying to lighten the moment. Dom’s irritated with himself, and embarrassed at being found in such a position. The best he can do is merely jolly him along a bit, until Dom’s natural good humour reasserts itself.
“Yeah,” Dom repeats.
Billy returns to the broom cupboard for the mop and a second pail, turning back just in time to see his lover topple over again, trying to pick up a piece of glass he’d missed from under the front edge of the cooker. Unable to catch his balance, he falls, hard, onto his left side, striking his head sharply against the cooker door..
“Ah, God. Oh, bloody hell.” Dom curls in upon himself, and Billy can’t decide if he’s hurt, or merely shamed beyond the point of endurance.
“Dommie,” he says, then, a wee bit louder, “Dominic.”
“Can’t do this,” Dom’s muttering. “Can’t bloody do this, Bill.”
“Yes, you can,” Billy tells him, levering Dom’s body up from the lino. “’s only a bit difficult at the moment.”
“Yeah. Difficult.” Dom’s laughter is harsh, not mirthful in the least. There’s a red mark on his forehead, but it’s almost obliterated by the fact that he’s blushing furiously, managing a truly vivid shade of pink this time.
“Dom,” Billy says, not meaning the word as a rebuke, not in the least.
“Don’t start with me, Bills. You don’t know. You can’t.” His eyes turn away when Billy regards him, steadily, saying nothing. Dom’s cradling his left arm, and Billy’s afraid he’s actually hurt himself in the fall. More than that, he’s in A Mood.
“Dom, answer me truthfully, are you okay?”
“Bloody peachy,” Dom mutters.
“That’s not a real answer, Dominic.”
“Dominic, is it?” Dom grins suddenly, suddenly changed into his old self once more. He’s nothing if not mercurial, his Dom. “Shite, Bills.”
“I’ve heard of being found in compromising positions by one’s lover, but I can’t think they meant this.” He crouches to kiss Dom’s forehead, just where the red mark is. “To make it better.”
Dom gives his soft, low laugh. “Ah, God, Billy.”
“Not hurt, then?”
“Not hurt,” Dom agrees. “Which isn’t to say it doesn’t hurt me like hell, it’s just the old…”
“Pain?”
“Yeah, the old pain. Nothing new,” Dom agrees. “Bloody humiliating, you know, being found on one’s arse in a puddle of milk.”
“Och,” Billy answers, “Seen you in worse positions, daftie.” He shifts his shoulder a bit as Dom leans over to rest against him. “Smell like a feckin’ dairy, you do.”
“Yeah,” Dom answered, in a more somber tone, warning that he’s slipping back into his Mood again.
“Think I might take you to bed with me.”
“Really?” Dom grins suddenly; Billy loves catching him by surprise.
Billy nods. “Thinking of it. Might be forced to touch you in inappropriate ways. Only to find out if you’re injured anywhere, y’understand?”
Dom’s nose bumps Billy’s ear; his breath blowing warmly over Billy’s jaw, against his neck. He’s murmuring words Billy can’t quite comprehend, though the meaning’s clear enough. Dom’s good hand, brushes over his knee, running up his thigh—it’s that musician’s touch again, curiously delicate. His mouth moves downward, kissing Billy just at the angle of his jaw.
Billy turns to him, studying Dom’s face. His expression seems to hold a number of levels, but then, it often does.
Then Dom’s kissing him, one of those hard, hungry kisses. Their teeth clack against one another’s for an instant, but then Dom shifts his position and, once more, they fit perfectly. Dom’s tongue delves into his mouth, then out again, and he’s captured Billy’s tongue instead, sucking on it, his body pushing at Billy’s until the two of them aren’t exactly side-by-side anymore, they’re entwined in complicated ways, and Dom’s hand is stroking down his throat, over Billy’s chest and lower, his thumb slipping into Billy’s navel as Dom’s fingers slip further downward.
Billy finds himself breathing hard into Dom’s mouth. He’s pulsing against the whisper-touch of Dom’s fingertips and wants nothing more, suddenly, than to feel the hot tightness of his lover, to push into him and stroke him, and to see the look on Dom’s face as he comes (eyes closed tightly, tongue-tip tracing the shape of his upper lip, then the relaxation after, the Dom sinks into sated, half-awake bliss, even as his hand continues to touch in all the best places).
Dom can keep it going for hours—or so it seems—a pleasure that goes on and on, a spiral of pleasure, building slowly, always intense, until the point Billy can’t stand it any longer and they’re both ready again, with a quickness Billy’d thought he’d left behind somewhere in the neighborhood of his thirtieth birthday.
There’s something in the way Dom’s able to focus on him, entirely on him, the rest of the world excluded from their universe of two. He’ll never want, or need, another lover for the rest of his life.
Behind Billy, there’s the sound of a throat being cleared, and Billy jerks away so quickly his lower teeth scrape against Dom’s lip.
“Ow,” Dom says mildly. “Watch those fangs of yours, Bill.”
Billy wishes he’d the power to turn suddenly invisible. The ridiculousness of the situation strikes him—to be found by one of Dom’s parents, snogging his boyfriend (and more) on the kitchen floor, like a naughty teenager.
“Hullo, Dad,” Dom says. He’s laughing a bit, damn him.
“All right are you, son?” Austin asks mildly.
“Right enough,” Dom answers. “Came in here for a glass of milk. Lost my balance. Bills pulled me up again.”
Billy turns. Austin’s face holds a bit of a questioning look but, being Austin, he also appears close to laughing—since they are, obviously, still both on the kitchen floor.
“Fell again, dinn’t I?” Dom’s laughing aloud, then.
Billy scrambles to his feet, feeling something several levels beyond ridiculous. “He has no sense of shame, your son,” he says, not quite able to look at either of them.
“No reason he ought to,” Austin answers, laughing now as well. He reaches down to hoist Dom to his feet again. Dom clings to his dad a moment, still a little unsteady. “All right, then, Dominic?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dom says, though he’s leaned his head against Austin’s shoulder, in a gesture that’s simultaneously loving and a bit needy—it reminds Billy again that however improved he is, Dom’s still not well. Austin holds him tenderly.
“When you’re ready, then,” he says, in the same quiet voice. Dom leans on him a long while.
“I’m just…” he mumbles into his dad’s shoulder, and Austin strokes his hair gently.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he croons. “You have all the time in the world, son. Billy and I will walk you back to bed when you’re ready.”
“Yeah.” Dom raises his head at last. “Yeah. I’m okay. Need to get cleaned up, though. ‘m all milky.”
“That’s all right,” Austin answers again, slipping an arm in around his son’s waist as Billy takes Dom's good arm. He’s a bit unsteady, still, but he moves along at a good enough pace, pulling away from them to go into the bathroom on his own.
Billy follows to toss in a pair of fresh pyjama trousers in after him, shutting the door again. “You all right in there?”
There’s a muffled curse, then Dom answers, “’m okay. Go about your regularly scheduled business.” Water runs, and there are noises of splashing and, occasionally, of frustration.
Billy’s not sure what’s worse: standing there in the bedroom, in a fairly uneasy (on his part) silence, beside his lover’s father; his feeling of interrupted arousal; or his very deep sense of embarrassment. He’d never thought of himself as a man of particularly delicate sensibilities, yet this seems awkward in the extreme.
“You needn’t hide from us,” Austin says mildly. “Dom’s been quite open about your relationship. More than you’d be comfortable with, Bill, I rather suspect.” A smile flickers over his mouth, and there’s so much of Dom in the expression, Billy can’t help but let down his guard a little. “It’s not anything you expected in your life, is it?” Austin continues quietly. “To fall for a bloke like this? It’s been hard for you to quite wrap your mind around.” Austin’s regarding him steadily now, and Billy has a sudden, almost painful awareness that Dom’s dad has seen everything, been aware of everything, that there’s nothing Billy can hide from him.
And why should I want to? Billy asks himself. Do I think I ought to be ashamed, still, after all these months?
“What are your intentions toward my boy?” Austin asks him, solemnly, and Billy’s startled out of his reverie, only to find Dom’s father grinning at him like a mad thing.
Billy shakes his head, smiling too. “Thought I’d marry him, actually.” He glances up, suddenly. “That is, if it’s all right with you.”
Austin’s arm wraps round his shoulders, warm and heavy across Billy’s back, pulling him nearer. Austin’s not a tall man; there’s nothing awkward in the feeling, no sense of judgment or domination, only a easy acceptance.
Billy’s speechless, enveloped in completely unexpected emotions. It’s truly something he hasn’t felt since he was a small boy, that sensation of everything being right with the world, of his life being filled, absolutely, with love, closeness, security. Despite the incident in the kitchen, Billy realizes he believes now, absolutely, that Dom will be all right again, with a little time, a little care.
He’s breathing a bit too fast, his shoulder pressed hard against Austin’s chest. There’s one of those odd changes of perception in which the fabric of the world seems to rip. In that instant he feels ungrounded, cast adrift, uncertain—but only for an instant. It’s followed by sensation of having found his feet again, his sensation in the moment before it all tore open not only renewed, but stronger, so strong it’s nearly overwhelming.
Billy’s himself again, for the first time in weeks. He’s himself, and overwhelming isn't, actually, the word for it. He’s fights an urge that bubbles up in him, both to laugh and cry at the same time.
Dom’s appeared in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the jamb. For a moment, his eyes move from one to another, then he says softly, “Love you, y’know.”
Austin and Billy trade glances. It’s not clear whether Dom’s meant one or the other of them--or both. Still, Billy crosses the room, without being aware of taking a step, and wraps his arms round Dom’s waist, pressing his face into Dom’s soap-scented, slightly-damp skin. There’s so much he wants to say, but none of the words will come out of him.
“You’re all right now, aren’t you, Bills?” Dom says, in the same quiet voice. “I can tell, just looking at you.”
“I believe I am,” Billy answers, “Mostly.”
“Yeah, me too.” The back of his hand brushes over Billy’s cheek, then Dom glances up. “I think it’s time for us to go back to Glasgow now, Dad. Put things in order.” His tone, for once, is entirely serious. “Start living again, really, and say goodbye to New Zealand—for now.”
“Yes.” Austin nods. “Yes.” There’s nothing more to be said, except that Austin continues. “I always will love you, son. You know that, yes?”
Dom blushes a little. “You’re the best, Dad.”
“Don’t let your mum get involved with planning the ceremony.” Austin grins--Dom’s own cocky, cheeky grin. “It might well take over the world, and life as we know it will end.”
"That's rather the point, isn't it? Not having life go on as we know it?" Dom laughs delightedly. “And honestly, Dad, as if you, or I, or the British Army could stop mum when she puts her mind to something?” Dom gives Billy’s shoulder a bit of a squeeze. “Here’s your chance to run away, Bills, if you wanted to. If not, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me—with us—forever and ever.”
“Don’t think I’ll be running,” Billy says. His throat is tight, and he doesn’t want to look at Dom’s face, especially at the bright, loving expression in his eyes—yet at the same time he can’t bear to look away. “I’ll never be running.”
“That’s enough for me,” Austin says.
Dom’s trembling against Billy. He’s clearly been too long on his feet, yet neither of them want to interrupt the moment.
“I’m happy,” Dom says simply. “I’m just… happy.”
Billy realizes he feels much the same. He’s not conflicted or afraid any longer, not braced against what the world brings to him. He’s only content, resting in the moment, balanced and happy and safe. “Aye,” he answers. “Ah, God, Dom, yes.”
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: R, for naughty touching
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found can be read at Caraidean). Things are going to be all right again.
Feedback: Always loved and appreciated.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Part 4
Billy’s grown accustomed, in the middle of the night, to hearing Dom’s bare feet shuffle across the hardwood floors, his muffled curses as he bumps into one obstacle or another on his way, followed by the sound of the refrigerator door opening, then shutting again. He’ll half wake, not opening his eyes, merely shifting into the warm space where Dom’s body has been--keeping that hollow warm, though he knows, most likely, that Dom will not return to him, not for hours, at least. Not until the time Billy would usually awaken naturally.
There’s an unspoken understanding between them that they’ll both pretend Dom’s been there all along.
Dom’s still too uncomfortable to sleep well, Billy knows, even with the extra pillows. He can’t lie on his stomach, the way he likes. Now and then Billy wakes in the night merely from the fact of Dom lying so terribly still by his side, in a vain attempt not to disturb him—except that the Dom he’s accustomed to sleeping with moves constantly, and Billy (who generally sleeps deeply in whatever position), misses the way Dom once would curl ever-more-tightly into him, until many nights Billy woke to find himself sprawled out atop Dom’s body, his nose in Dom’s clean soft hair, rising and falling with Dom’s slow, deep nocturnal breathing.
Dom always kisses him softly before he leaves, but the fact remains that he goes anyway, and Billy’s not precisely certain what that means.
There’s a clatter and a crash from the kitchen, then a curse that’s definitely far from muttered. Billy’s out the door and halfway across the lounge without thinking, then inside the kitchen in a half a dozen steps more.
Dom’s sitting on the floor in a puddle of spilt milk that glitters, here and there, with shards of glittering glass. He glances up, red-faced—or as red-faced as he’s capable of being, given his current state of pallor. “Only wanted something to drink,” Dom asks rhetorically. “Is that really too bloody much to hope for?”
“Operator error?” Billy asks, then curses himself silently. That’s one of Elijah’s favorite phrases. Dom misses Elijah desperately, he knows, and wants more than anything to ring him. Billy catches him picking up, then setting down, the telephone more often than Billy can fully comprehend.
“Fell on my arse,” Dom tells him.
“I can see that. Want a hand up?”
“Yeah.” Dom looks away from him. “I s’pose. In a minute.” He glances, briefly, at Billy’s face. “Toss me a towel or something, won’t you? I want to get this mopped up before you try to come wading through, Bills.”
“Dom, you don’t have to…” Billy begins.
Dom’s look turns to one of pure stubbornness. “Yeah. I do. Made a hell of a mess, and I’d like to take care of it, if you don’t mind.” He shifts around awkwardly, until he’s on his knees, his good hand stretched out for the tea-towel Billy unearths from the bottom of a drawer. He finds a pail in the broom-cupboard.
He’d like to take the towel out of Dom’s hands and do the work for him, but something in the look of Dom’s bowed head seems forbidding.
“Even the crown of your head looks stubborn,” Billy tells him.
Dom doesn’t answer, only continues, doggedly, to mop at the white puddle on the floor, wringing out the cloth as best he can, one-handedly, until the worst of the mess is cleared away. Billy leans forward to help him to his feet, only Dom’s pulled himself up already, against the edge of the worktop.
“Fetch me the broom?” he asks.
“Dommie, I…”
“Just fetch me the fucking broom won’t you, Bills?” Dom’s voice sounds more like Charlie’s than his own, tense and more-than-slightly irritated, though Billy knows well enough it’s not with him.
“If that’s the way you want it, then.” Billy shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Dom performs his sweeping a little too emphatically, moving the dustpan Billy’s also fetched for him into place with his feet.
“Good use of those football skills,” Billy tells him, trying to lighten the moment. Dom’s irritated with himself, and embarrassed at being found in such a position. The best he can do is merely jolly him along a bit, until Dom’s natural good humour reasserts itself.
“Yeah,” Dom repeats.
Billy returns to the broom cupboard for the mop and a second pail, turning back just in time to see his lover topple over again, trying to pick up a piece of glass he’d missed from under the front edge of the cooker. Unable to catch his balance, he falls, hard, onto his left side, striking his head sharply against the cooker door..
“Ah, God. Oh, bloody hell.” Dom curls in upon himself, and Billy can’t decide if he’s hurt, or merely shamed beyond the point of endurance.
“Dommie,” he says, then, a wee bit louder, “Dominic.”
“Can’t do this,” Dom’s muttering. “Can’t bloody do this, Bill.”
“Yes, you can,” Billy tells him, levering Dom’s body up from the lino. “’s only a bit difficult at the moment.”
“Yeah. Difficult.” Dom’s laughter is harsh, not mirthful in the least. There’s a red mark on his forehead, but it’s almost obliterated by the fact that he’s blushing furiously, managing a truly vivid shade of pink this time.
“Dom,” Billy says, not meaning the word as a rebuke, not in the least.
“Don’t start with me, Bills. You don’t know. You can’t.” His eyes turn away when Billy regards him, steadily, saying nothing. Dom’s cradling his left arm, and Billy’s afraid he’s actually hurt himself in the fall. More than that, he’s in A Mood.
“Dom, answer me truthfully, are you okay?”
“Bloody peachy,” Dom mutters.
“That’s not a real answer, Dominic.”
“Dominic, is it?” Dom grins suddenly, suddenly changed into his old self once more. He’s nothing if not mercurial, his Dom. “Shite, Bills.”
“I’ve heard of being found in compromising positions by one’s lover, but I can’t think they meant this.” He crouches to kiss Dom’s forehead, just where the red mark is. “To make it better.”
Dom gives his soft, low laugh. “Ah, God, Billy.”
“Not hurt, then?”
“Not hurt,” Dom agrees. “Which isn’t to say it doesn’t hurt me like hell, it’s just the old…”
“Pain?”
“Yeah, the old pain. Nothing new,” Dom agrees. “Bloody humiliating, you know, being found on one’s arse in a puddle of milk.”
“Och,” Billy answers, “Seen you in worse positions, daftie.” He shifts his shoulder a bit as Dom leans over to rest against him. “Smell like a feckin’ dairy, you do.”
“Yeah,” Dom answered, in a more somber tone, warning that he’s slipping back into his Mood again.
“Think I might take you to bed with me.”
“Really?” Dom grins suddenly; Billy loves catching him by surprise.
Billy nods. “Thinking of it. Might be forced to touch you in inappropriate ways. Only to find out if you’re injured anywhere, y’understand?”
Dom’s nose bumps Billy’s ear; his breath blowing warmly over Billy’s jaw, against his neck. He’s murmuring words Billy can’t quite comprehend, though the meaning’s clear enough. Dom’s good hand, brushes over his knee, running up his thigh—it’s that musician’s touch again, curiously delicate. His mouth moves downward, kissing Billy just at the angle of his jaw.
Billy turns to him, studying Dom’s face. His expression seems to hold a number of levels, but then, it often does.
Then Dom’s kissing him, one of those hard, hungry kisses. Their teeth clack against one another’s for an instant, but then Dom shifts his position and, once more, they fit perfectly. Dom’s tongue delves into his mouth, then out again, and he’s captured Billy’s tongue instead, sucking on it, his body pushing at Billy’s until the two of them aren’t exactly side-by-side anymore, they’re entwined in complicated ways, and Dom’s hand is stroking down his throat, over Billy’s chest and lower, his thumb slipping into Billy’s navel as Dom’s fingers slip further downward.
Billy finds himself breathing hard into Dom’s mouth. He’s pulsing against the whisper-touch of Dom’s fingertips and wants nothing more, suddenly, than to feel the hot tightness of his lover, to push into him and stroke him, and to see the look on Dom’s face as he comes (eyes closed tightly, tongue-tip tracing the shape of his upper lip, then the relaxation after, the Dom sinks into sated, half-awake bliss, even as his hand continues to touch in all the best places).
Dom can keep it going for hours—or so it seems—a pleasure that goes on and on, a spiral of pleasure, building slowly, always intense, until the point Billy can’t stand it any longer and they’re both ready again, with a quickness Billy’d thought he’d left behind somewhere in the neighborhood of his thirtieth birthday.
There’s something in the way Dom’s able to focus on him, entirely on him, the rest of the world excluded from their universe of two. He’ll never want, or need, another lover for the rest of his life.
Behind Billy, there’s the sound of a throat being cleared, and Billy jerks away so quickly his lower teeth scrape against Dom’s lip.
“Ow,” Dom says mildly. “Watch those fangs of yours, Bill.”
Billy wishes he’d the power to turn suddenly invisible. The ridiculousness of the situation strikes him—to be found by one of Dom’s parents, snogging his boyfriend (and more) on the kitchen floor, like a naughty teenager.
“Hullo, Dad,” Dom says. He’s laughing a bit, damn him.
“All right are you, son?” Austin asks mildly.
“Right enough,” Dom answers. “Came in here for a glass of milk. Lost my balance. Bills pulled me up again.”
Billy turns. Austin’s face holds a bit of a questioning look but, being Austin, he also appears close to laughing—since they are, obviously, still both on the kitchen floor.
“Fell again, dinn’t I?” Dom’s laughing aloud, then.
Billy scrambles to his feet, feeling something several levels beyond ridiculous. “He has no sense of shame, your son,” he says, not quite able to look at either of them.
“No reason he ought to,” Austin answers, laughing now as well. He reaches down to hoist Dom to his feet again. Dom clings to his dad a moment, still a little unsteady. “All right, then, Dominic?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dom says, though he’s leaned his head against Austin’s shoulder, in a gesture that’s simultaneously loving and a bit needy—it reminds Billy again that however improved he is, Dom’s still not well. Austin holds him tenderly.
“When you’re ready, then,” he says, in the same quiet voice. Dom leans on him a long while.
“I’m just…” he mumbles into his dad’s shoulder, and Austin strokes his hair gently.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he croons. “You have all the time in the world, son. Billy and I will walk you back to bed when you’re ready.”
“Yeah.” Dom raises his head at last. “Yeah. I’m okay. Need to get cleaned up, though. ‘m all milky.”
“That’s all right,” Austin answers again, slipping an arm in around his son’s waist as Billy takes Dom's good arm. He’s a bit unsteady, still, but he moves along at a good enough pace, pulling away from them to go into the bathroom on his own.
Billy follows to toss in a pair of fresh pyjama trousers in after him, shutting the door again. “You all right in there?”
There’s a muffled curse, then Dom answers, “’m okay. Go about your regularly scheduled business.” Water runs, and there are noises of splashing and, occasionally, of frustration.
Billy’s not sure what’s worse: standing there in the bedroom, in a fairly uneasy (on his part) silence, beside his lover’s father; his feeling of interrupted arousal; or his very deep sense of embarrassment. He’d never thought of himself as a man of particularly delicate sensibilities, yet this seems awkward in the extreme.
“You needn’t hide from us,” Austin says mildly. “Dom’s been quite open about your relationship. More than you’d be comfortable with, Bill, I rather suspect.” A smile flickers over his mouth, and there’s so much of Dom in the expression, Billy can’t help but let down his guard a little. “It’s not anything you expected in your life, is it?” Austin continues quietly. “To fall for a bloke like this? It’s been hard for you to quite wrap your mind around.” Austin’s regarding him steadily now, and Billy has a sudden, almost painful awareness that Dom’s dad has seen everything, been aware of everything, that there’s nothing Billy can hide from him.
And why should I want to? Billy asks himself. Do I think I ought to be ashamed, still, after all these months?
“What are your intentions toward my boy?” Austin asks him, solemnly, and Billy’s startled out of his reverie, only to find Dom’s father grinning at him like a mad thing.
Billy shakes his head, smiling too. “Thought I’d marry him, actually.” He glances up, suddenly. “That is, if it’s all right with you.”
Austin’s arm wraps round his shoulders, warm and heavy across Billy’s back, pulling him nearer. Austin’s not a tall man; there’s nothing awkward in the feeling, no sense of judgment or domination, only a easy acceptance.
Billy’s speechless, enveloped in completely unexpected emotions. It’s truly something he hasn’t felt since he was a small boy, that sensation of everything being right with the world, of his life being filled, absolutely, with love, closeness, security. Despite the incident in the kitchen, Billy realizes he believes now, absolutely, that Dom will be all right again, with a little time, a little care.
He’s breathing a bit too fast, his shoulder pressed hard against Austin’s chest. There’s one of those odd changes of perception in which the fabric of the world seems to rip. In that instant he feels ungrounded, cast adrift, uncertain—but only for an instant. It’s followed by sensation of having found his feet again, his sensation in the moment before it all tore open not only renewed, but stronger, so strong it’s nearly overwhelming.
Billy’s himself again, for the first time in weeks. He’s himself, and overwhelming isn't, actually, the word for it. He’s fights an urge that bubbles up in him, both to laugh and cry at the same time.
Dom’s appeared in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the jamb. For a moment, his eyes move from one to another, then he says softly, “Love you, y’know.”
Austin and Billy trade glances. It’s not clear whether Dom’s meant one or the other of them--or both. Still, Billy crosses the room, without being aware of taking a step, and wraps his arms round Dom’s waist, pressing his face into Dom’s soap-scented, slightly-damp skin. There’s so much he wants to say, but none of the words will come out of him.
“You’re all right now, aren’t you, Bills?” Dom says, in the same quiet voice. “I can tell, just looking at you.”
“I believe I am,” Billy answers, “Mostly.”
“Yeah, me too.” The back of his hand brushes over Billy’s cheek, then Dom glances up. “I think it’s time for us to go back to Glasgow now, Dad. Put things in order.” His tone, for once, is entirely serious. “Start living again, really, and say goodbye to New Zealand—for now.”
“Yes.” Austin nods. “Yes.” There’s nothing more to be said, except that Austin continues. “I always will love you, son. You know that, yes?”
Dom blushes a little. “You’re the best, Dad.”
“Don’t let your mum get involved with planning the ceremony.” Austin grins--Dom’s own cocky, cheeky grin. “It might well take over the world, and life as we know it will end.”
"That's rather the point, isn't it? Not having life go on as we know it?" Dom laughs delightedly. “And honestly, Dad, as if you, or I, or the British Army could stop mum when she puts her mind to something?” Dom gives Billy’s shoulder a bit of a squeeze. “Here’s your chance to run away, Bills, if you wanted to. If not, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me—with us—forever and ever.”
“Don’t think I’ll be running,” Billy says. His throat is tight, and he doesn’t want to look at Dom’s face, especially at the bright, loving expression in his eyes—yet at the same time he can’t bear to look away. “I’ll never be running.”
“That’s enough for me,” Austin says.
Dom’s trembling against Billy. He’s clearly been too long on his feet, yet neither of them want to interrupt the moment.
“I’m happy,” Dom says simply. “I’m just… happy.”
Billy realizes he feels much the same. He’s not conflicted or afraid any longer, not braced against what the world brings to him. He’s only content, resting in the moment, balanced and happy and safe. “Aye,” he answers. “Ah, God, Dom, yes.”
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*is now little puddle of mushy goo*