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monaboyd Sep. 30th, 2004 05:21 am)
semaphore27.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Sep. 30th, 2004 05:21 am)Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: Mild NC-17, for naughty touching
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found, as well as the earlier parts of this story can be read at Caraidean thanks to the hard-working![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jesslotr). In which the travelers arrive home, Billy’s weary and Dom is distracting.
Feedback: is incredibly inspiring! Thank you for all the comments so far, and sorry this wasn’t up last night.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Chapter 9
There’s a friendly blond man in a cobalt-coloured uniform to see them off the plane, to see that their luggage is collected, to see that they’re moved smoothly through customs. The customs inspector doesn’t ask them much in the way of questions. Mostly, what he says is, “I guess you probably didn’t have time for much shopping, huh?’ and “Welcome home, guys.” It’s nice to be welcomed home, Billy thinks, even if it’s by strangers. He gives the man a slightly sickly smile in return.
On the way out of customs, Dom breathes softly in his ear, “Reckon we chose the wrong day not to become drug smugglers, eh, Bills?”
Billy can’t help but laugh in return, but he tells Dom sternly, “Shut it, you.”
Dom only laughs back at him, which is good to hear. It’s good to see the sparkle in Dom’s eyes, because the truth is, he looks like walking death.
“You all right, céile?” Billy asks him, worried suddenly, more sorry than he can say that he left Dom so utterly alone, for so very long, during their flight.
Dom smiles in return. “Right as… what that thing one’s meant to be right as?”
“Rain?” Billy asks.
“Tha’s it.” Dom's slurring slightly. He must be very tired. He's shaking his head as if trying to rattle the phrase into it.
The friendly man in cobalt touches Billy’s arm, the one that’s occupied with holding fast to Dom. “Is he okay?” he whispers. “Should we stop by the emergency room or anything?”
“I think he’s all right,” Billy answers. “Just completely knackered. Tired, that is.”
The man has that slightly glazed look, the one Astin often got in the early days, which says he has absolutely no idea what Billy’s said, yet is entranced by the sound of his voice. “Your accent’s amazing,” he says. “Where do you come from?”
“Scotland,” Billy replies, but the man shakes his head.
“I’m afraid I don’t know that one.”
“Scotland,” Billy repeats, slowly and clearly. “Braveheart. ‘Tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom.’”
“Oh!” Billy can practically see a lightbulb switch on over the man’s head. “SCOT-land. Wow. Do you all talk like that up there? Is it true what they say about what you wear under your kilts?”
“A gentleman never asks, and a gentleman never answers,” Billy replies, but that one seems to fly straight over their minder’s head. By that time, though, they’re at the airport doors and a large car is waiting for them out by the kerb. There’s a driver in a crisp linen shirt and dark trousers to transfer their bags from the luggage trolley to the boot, then to gently take Dom’s arm and ease him into the spacious interior.
“You just settle back and enjoy the ride, man,” he says soothingly, and Billy watches Dom sink visibly into the upholstery, utterly boneless now he needn’t keep up appearances anymore.
“I’ll drive him gently as a baby in a cradle,” the driver says, which Billy thinks is a slightly confused image, but at the same time he likes the cadence of the man’s voice, a soft rise and fall, like the sea on a calm night. “You live out by Kailua, don’t you? Up north?”
“That’s right.” Billy gives a wave of farewell to the man from the airline as they pull away, then slides down until his head’s resting on Dom’s shoulder. He’s not sleeping. He doesn’t plan to sleep, but it’s good just to let the city flow by, all the noise and traffic shut away from the quiet inside the car. It’s good to roll their smooth way along the coastal road, mile after mile of blue ocean and green ocean, white surf, seafoam spilling over the shore.
“Pacific,” Dom says.
Billy nods. There’s a sting attached to his memory of that word, back from
Dom’s dark time. He remembers the letters all but carved into Dom’s hand and can’t help but run his fingers over the bit of that hand the peeps out from the end of Dom’s cast. It seems more than a little warm, and Dom’s fingers look slightly puffy to him. “Your hand’s swelling, céile,” Billy says. “Want me to slip your ring off for you?”
Dom makes a small noise that Billy takes for assent. “Need… lie down, Bills,” he slurs. “So fu’n tired.”
“That’s all right, love. You do that.” It’s a bit of a struggle to get the ring off, and more than a bit odd to hold it in his own hand again, still warm from Dom’s body. Billy slips the ring carefully into his trouser pocket, grinning as he murmurs to himself, “Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”
Dom gives him a small flicker of smile, leaning over until his head’s in Billy’s lap. Dom feels a bit flushed all over, more than a little warm, but most likely that’s only all the activity he’s gone through today. Softly, he strokes Dom’s hair, singing to him,
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Dom’s head is heavy on his lap, his breath warm against Billy’s skin. Billy feels very peaceful now, not even a sense of anticipation hanging over him, and before he would have thought it possible, they’re at their funny little bright-blue house, the colour of robins’ eggs, with the white porch that runs all the way around and the windchimes that make different sorts of tings! depending on which way the wind blows.
Their chauffer turns into the drive, parking just behind the garage. Billy touches Dom’s arm gently. “Dommie, wake up, we’re home.”
Dom turns his face into Billy’s thigh. “No, mum, I’m too tired. Can’t.”
“Wake up,” Billy says again. “Dommie, you’re dreaming. We’re home.”
Dom shifts again, then startles violently, raising his head from Billy’s leg. His hand goes to his forehead and he makes a small sound, halfway between a grunt and a groan.
“All right, are you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m okay.” Dom yawns hugely, sliding along the seat until he can plant his feet firmly on the tarmac of the drive. “Just tired, Bills. Hell of a day.”
“Has been that,” Billy agrees, and is rewarded with a bright Dommie-smile. “We’re home, though.”
“Yeah,” Dom breathes. He’s standing on the drive, swaying gently, an expression of utter bliss on his face. “Just smell it, Billy. It’s brilliant.”
“It is that,” Billy agrees, steering Dom carefully up the three steps to the porch, and from there, having fumbled the doorkey out of his pocket, into their house. It’s near sunset, but still bright out, and inside the house is light, fresh and clean. Except for the bathroom, it’s all one large room there, broken up into different spaces by half walls, the stairs to their sleeping loft, Dom’s numerous bookcases. The floors are light, polished wood, as is the furniture, the walls a clean, light shade of celadon, the sofa a deep comfortable wallow of cushions that might not exactly fit the décor, but suits the two of them very nicely.
Their driver brings the cases from outside, leaving them just past the door, in the tiled entry. “Is there anything else you’re needing?” he asks Billy.
Billy turns his head, gazing at the man blearily, tiredly. He can’t think of anything, honestly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Ta, mate,” Dom mumbles.
“Yes, thank you very much,” Billy responds. Dom’s leaning on him quite hard, making it difficult to stand straight. Billy doesn’t look forward to getting him upstairs to their bed.
“Goodnight, then,” the driver says, smiling. Billy fumbles a bit for his wallet, unsure of whether it’s polite or insulting to offer him money, wondering if he even has any American money in his possession.
“No, no, sir, that’s all right. All been taken care of.” He slips out the door, shutting it gently behind him.
The house isn’t large, it’s quite cozy, really, but it seems suddenly enormous with only the two of them inside.
“Upstairs. Go,” Dom tells him vaguely, wandering in the general direction of the stairs.
“I’ll join you,” Billy answers. “Got to use the loo first.”
“Okay.”
As Billy’s shutting the door behind him, Dom’s beginning to climb. Billy hears the slow shuffle of his feet—and the fact that Dom’s talking to himself encouragingly, as if the man having such difficulty with a simple flight of steps is another person entirely.
“That’s it, that’s it. Good man,” Dom’s saying. Billy can’t help but shake his head. It’s so daft, so utterly Dom.
He’s just finishing up, feeling as if his world has now expanded to include something beyond his need to piss, when there’s a tremendous crash from the area of the stairs. Billy’s out the door in a heartbeat, not even thinking of tucking himself back inside his trousers, though he does so after a moment. Dom’s lying on his back half under the steps, a different glazed look in his eyes and blood on his lower lip.
“Ah, fuck,” he says reflectively. “Din’t make it, did I? Why does my mouth hurt?”
There’s blood on one of the steps as well, about halfway up. It makes Billy nervous to think of Dom falling from so high, and his first impulse is to make Dom lie very still, to ring emergency services and let someone more skilled, more knowledgeable, than he take charge of the situation—only Dom’s already pulling himself upright, grumbling a bit, though that seems to be more at his own clumsiness than anything else.
“Oof!” he says loudly, hauling himself to his feet. “I’m so bloody knackered, Bills.”
“Did you want to sleep on the sofa tonight? Not risk the stairs?”
“I want to sleep in our bed, with you—though I can’t promise there’ll be much pleasure in my company.” Dom begins his slow ascent again, pulling at the handrail, at the point where there is a handrail. It’s so unlike the Dom he knows—who’ll generally swarm up the stairs like a pirate up the rigging of an enemy ship, and frequently simply drops out of the loft, not bothering with the stairs at all—that Billy can’t shake the feeling, for a moment, that he’s brought home the wrong man, a fragile stranger not much suited to life in this hard world.
Dom’s laughing, though. “They’ve put bloody orchids on our pillows, Bills!” He’s flopping sideways across the bed then, dabbing at his split lip with the back of his hand, toeing off his trainers. “So, so, fuckin’ tired,” he complains. Billy can relate to the feeling. He’s much the same.
Still, he helps Dom off with his jumper and trousers, noticing that Dom’s actually worn pants beneath for once.
“Bloody said I would,” Dom informs him, as if reading Billy’s mind. “After all those days of running round the island in my jeans, because I hadn’t any, feeling jealous of you because you had, I swore I’d never fly without proper pants again. Probably saved our lives, I did.”
“You’re mental,” Billy answers, stripping off Dom’s socks, removing the orchids so that he can push Dom into a more comfortable position on the pillows, then covering him over warmly.
“Mmm, I can hear the sea,” Dom says, just before his eyes slip shut. “Lovely that, Bills. Lovely to be here with you.” He’s out then, and Billy’s watching his face, the long, thin lines of his eyelashes against the dark patches under his eyes, the sharp lines of his bones beneath his skin, his bloody lip, slightly puffed now, as if he’s been stung.
Billy takes the ring from his pocket, turning it round and round in his fingers, all smooth metal and the rise and fall of the pattern, the slight roughness of the words inside. “Happy to be here with you as well, love,” he says, finally, setting the ring in a little dish he keeps on his night-table.
He strips off his own clothes finally, glad to take fresh ones from the bureau drawers that are worn and his, not merely chosen for him by a well-meaning friend. He slides into the bed behind Dom, wrapping his arm around him, burying face in the back of Dom’s neck so that there’s nothing in the world but the smell of Dom, the feel of Dom’s body against his.
For a long time, he knows, he loved Dom—certainly he loved Dom, how could he not?—yet held something of himself back, behind neatly-constructed walls of his own invention. Those walls have all fallen now, the thought of life without Dom here, always close to him, more frightening than anything he could imagine. Even were he to be given a choice, all or nothing, between Dom and Scotland, there’s no doubt at all which he would pick. He holds Dom a bit tighter, running his hand up and down the soft fuzzy boniness of Dom’s chest and belly.
“Love you, lad,” he murmurs in Dom’s ear. “Would choose you over my Scotland, any day, even when you’re being a prat.”
In his sleep, Dom smiles a little, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Love you,” Billy says again, and presses his face into the exact middle of Dom’s back. “Love you more than my own life.”
Dom turns in his sleep, lying on his cast now, which can’t be comfortable for him. His good arm goes round Billy’s body, though, his hand stroking down Billy’s own back, over his bum, with a series of sweet, soft caresses. He mumbles something, smiling to himself, smiling more when Billy kisses him—three gentle kisses, two to his eyelids, one to his lips.
“Good, Bill,” he breathes. “Tha’s good, Bill.”
Next morning they rise late, and Dom seems listless. He’ll smile, and agree with whatever Billy says to him (that in itself setting off warning bells in Billy’s head—he’s accustomed to a Dom who argues, or mocks, or takes the piss out of him for the simple pleasure of doing so). When Billy makes him egg and toast for breakfast, Dom appears to have forgotten that the purpose of his fork is to actually convey food into his mouth, using it to build something of an egg-maze on his plate instead. When Billy measures out his pills, then leaves him to take a shower, Dom’s still staring at the tablets and capsules when he returns, sorting them into groups by colour or shape.
“Dom, take your pills,” Billy says, tightening the belt to his warm toweling dressing gown.
“What? Oh, yeah.” Dom rolls a capsule on the table with his fingertip, no closer to actually swallowing it than he’s been before.
“Something wrong?” Billy asks, taking the plate with the untouched toast and the egg-maze away. “Why’d you say you wanted breakfast when you didn’t?”
“Thought I’d manage,” Dom answers wearily. He slides his fingers into the top of his cast, then into the bottom, as if searching for an itch he’ll never be able to reach. “This damn thing. It’s like I’ve got ants in there, Billy. Makes me mental.”
“It comes off tomorrow, at least.”
“Yeah,” Dom says. “Yeah.” He straightens suddenly. “Let’s go for a walk, Billy. Shake the cobwebs out. I promise I’ll manage the pills when I get back.”
Billy moves to the back of Dom’s chair, wrapping his arms round him from behind, kissing the top of his hair, then the back of his neck.
“Mmn, nice that.” Dom arches like a kitten. He feels a little warm to Billy’s touch.
“You’re warm,” Billy says. “Sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Mum,” Dom laughs. “And anyway, I can’t be warm. I’m absolutely freezing. Will you bring me down my trackies so I won’t have to face the dreaded stair?”
“Glad to.” Billy shifts slightly, until he can look down into Dom’s face. “How’s the lip this morning.”
“Kissable,” Dom answers, getting an arm round Billy’s waist, pulling Billy down into his lap, kissing him thoroughly—warm, wet, sloppy kisses that make Billy believe absolutely that everything’s all right. It must be. Dom’s hand’s between his legs now, up under the folds of toweling, rubbing him softly.
“Stop that,” he says, but Dom doesn’t stop, and Billy doesn’t truly want him to. It’s so good, that pressure, so normal and comforting and arousing all at the same time.
“Wake up, wee Billy,” Dom laughs into his mouth, and Billy feels himself rising sharply against Dom’s palm, hard and hot and needing this, suddenly, as much as he’s needed anything in his life.
“God, not at the table, Dom,” he manages to gasp, though, and Dom laughs at him again, sliding Billy off his lap, still holding fast as he steers him out to the porch, leaning him up against the railings.
“The neighbors,” Billy gets out.
“At work.” Dom shrugs. “Not here. And anyway, we’ve fences to either side, so they’d not be able to see anything even if they were. Just don’t scream too loudly—“ He nips at Billy’s ear, then runs his tongue slowly over the sensitive space behind. “When you come.”
“That’s what I like,” Billy breathes. “A lad with confidence in his abilities.” It’s all he can manage, because Dom’s hand is indeed very clever, and those long fingers seem able to reach and touch him in all sorts of brilliant places at once. He’s trying to remember to keep breathing when Dom’s tongue delves into his mouth and Dom’s thigh comes up between his legs, and Billy finds himself pressing down against it, pressing and pressing, which must be the wrong thing to do, because suddenly they’re spilling onto the porch flooring, his body on top of Dom’s, Dom’s hand still gliding up the whole length of his cock, down to the root and back up again. Billy feels his balls go small and tight and his spine contract, until he’s spilling everywhere, pushing himself into the hand that’s brought him off, pushing himself into Dom’s body, until he absolutely can’t breathe and the world goes swoopy around him, but that’s okay, because he’s being held tight, held with love. He’s spent and warm and sleepy again, and it’s good just to rest against the body of someone he cares for so much, trusts so well.
Dom’s hand’s up beneath his dressing gown, stroking the small of Billy’s back, stroking his bum in slow, languorous touches, and he has the feeling he might just have been put off from something, but at that moment Billy doesn’t care. What he has in this moment is too good for him to care.
All through the day Dom’s touching him, distracting him—whilst they’re cleaning themselves up, during their long walk up the shore, through an afternoon of reading or watching the telly. It’s only after Dom’s gone up for an early bed-time that Billy realizes he hasn’t managed to get him to eat anything through the day, or to take his morning pills.
That’s all right, though, Billy supposes. One day won’t hurt anything.
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: Mild NC-17, for naughty touching
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found, as well as the earlier parts of this story can be read at Caraidean thanks to the hard-working
jesslotr). In which the travelers arrive home, Billy’s weary and Dom is distracting.Feedback: is incredibly inspiring! Thank you for all the comments so far, and sorry this wasn’t up last night.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Chapter 9
There’s a friendly blond man in a cobalt-coloured uniform to see them off the plane, to see that their luggage is collected, to see that they’re moved smoothly through customs. The customs inspector doesn’t ask them much in the way of questions. Mostly, what he says is, “I guess you probably didn’t have time for much shopping, huh?’ and “Welcome home, guys.” It’s nice to be welcomed home, Billy thinks, even if it’s by strangers. He gives the man a slightly sickly smile in return.
On the way out of customs, Dom breathes softly in his ear, “Reckon we chose the wrong day not to become drug smugglers, eh, Bills?”
Billy can’t help but laugh in return, but he tells Dom sternly, “Shut it, you.”
Dom only laughs back at him, which is good to hear. It’s good to see the sparkle in Dom’s eyes, because the truth is, he looks like walking death.
“You all right, céile?” Billy asks him, worried suddenly, more sorry than he can say that he left Dom so utterly alone, for so very long, during their flight.
Dom smiles in return. “Right as… what that thing one’s meant to be right as?”
“Rain?” Billy asks.
“Tha’s it.” Dom's slurring slightly. He must be very tired. He's shaking his head as if trying to rattle the phrase into it.
The friendly man in cobalt touches Billy’s arm, the one that’s occupied with holding fast to Dom. “Is he okay?” he whispers. “Should we stop by the emergency room or anything?”
“I think he’s all right,” Billy answers. “Just completely knackered. Tired, that is.”
The man has that slightly glazed look, the one Astin often got in the early days, which says he has absolutely no idea what Billy’s said, yet is entranced by the sound of his voice. “Your accent’s amazing,” he says. “Where do you come from?”
“Scotland,” Billy replies, but the man shakes his head.
“I’m afraid I don’t know that one.”
“Scotland,” Billy repeats, slowly and clearly. “Braveheart. ‘Tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom.’”
“Oh!” Billy can practically see a lightbulb switch on over the man’s head. “SCOT-land. Wow. Do you all talk like that up there? Is it true what they say about what you wear under your kilts?”
“A gentleman never asks, and a gentleman never answers,” Billy replies, but that one seems to fly straight over their minder’s head. By that time, though, they’re at the airport doors and a large car is waiting for them out by the kerb. There’s a driver in a crisp linen shirt and dark trousers to transfer their bags from the luggage trolley to the boot, then to gently take Dom’s arm and ease him into the spacious interior.
“You just settle back and enjoy the ride, man,” he says soothingly, and Billy watches Dom sink visibly into the upholstery, utterly boneless now he needn’t keep up appearances anymore.
“I’ll drive him gently as a baby in a cradle,” the driver says, which Billy thinks is a slightly confused image, but at the same time he likes the cadence of the man’s voice, a soft rise and fall, like the sea on a calm night. “You live out by Kailua, don’t you? Up north?”
“That’s right.” Billy gives a wave of farewell to the man from the airline as they pull away, then slides down until his head’s resting on Dom’s shoulder. He’s not sleeping. He doesn’t plan to sleep, but it’s good just to let the city flow by, all the noise and traffic shut away from the quiet inside the car. It’s good to roll their smooth way along the coastal road, mile after mile of blue ocean and green ocean, white surf, seafoam spilling over the shore.
“Pacific,” Dom says.
Billy nods. There’s a sting attached to his memory of that word, back from
Dom’s dark time. He remembers the letters all but carved into Dom’s hand and can’t help but run his fingers over the bit of that hand the peeps out from the end of Dom’s cast. It seems more than a little warm, and Dom’s fingers look slightly puffy to him. “Your hand’s swelling, céile,” Billy says. “Want me to slip your ring off for you?”
Dom makes a small noise that Billy takes for assent. “Need… lie down, Bills,” he slurs. “So fu’n tired.”
“That’s all right, love. You do that.” It’s a bit of a struggle to get the ring off, and more than a bit odd to hold it in his own hand again, still warm from Dom’s body. Billy slips the ring carefully into his trouser pocket, grinning as he murmurs to himself, “Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”
Dom gives him a small flicker of smile, leaning over until his head’s in Billy’s lap. Dom feels a bit flushed all over, more than a little warm, but most likely that’s only all the activity he’s gone through today. Softly, he strokes Dom’s hair, singing to him,
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Dom’s head is heavy on his lap, his breath warm against Billy’s skin. Billy feels very peaceful now, not even a sense of anticipation hanging over him, and before he would have thought it possible, they’re at their funny little bright-blue house, the colour of robins’ eggs, with the white porch that runs all the way around and the windchimes that make different sorts of tings! depending on which way the wind blows.
Their chauffer turns into the drive, parking just behind the garage. Billy touches Dom’s arm gently. “Dommie, wake up, we’re home.”
Dom turns his face into Billy’s thigh. “No, mum, I’m too tired. Can’t.”
“Wake up,” Billy says again. “Dommie, you’re dreaming. We’re home.”
Dom shifts again, then startles violently, raising his head from Billy’s leg. His hand goes to his forehead and he makes a small sound, halfway between a grunt and a groan.
“All right, are you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m okay.” Dom yawns hugely, sliding along the seat until he can plant his feet firmly on the tarmac of the drive. “Just tired, Bills. Hell of a day.”
“Has been that,” Billy agrees, and is rewarded with a bright Dommie-smile. “We’re home, though.”
“Yeah,” Dom breathes. He’s standing on the drive, swaying gently, an expression of utter bliss on his face. “Just smell it, Billy. It’s brilliant.”
“It is that,” Billy agrees, steering Dom carefully up the three steps to the porch, and from there, having fumbled the doorkey out of his pocket, into their house. It’s near sunset, but still bright out, and inside the house is light, fresh and clean. Except for the bathroom, it’s all one large room there, broken up into different spaces by half walls, the stairs to their sleeping loft, Dom’s numerous bookcases. The floors are light, polished wood, as is the furniture, the walls a clean, light shade of celadon, the sofa a deep comfortable wallow of cushions that might not exactly fit the décor, but suits the two of them very nicely.
Their driver brings the cases from outside, leaving them just past the door, in the tiled entry. “Is there anything else you’re needing?” he asks Billy.
Billy turns his head, gazing at the man blearily, tiredly. He can’t think of anything, honestly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Ta, mate,” Dom mumbles.
“Yes, thank you very much,” Billy responds. Dom’s leaning on him quite hard, making it difficult to stand straight. Billy doesn’t look forward to getting him upstairs to their bed.
“Goodnight, then,” the driver says, smiling. Billy fumbles a bit for his wallet, unsure of whether it’s polite or insulting to offer him money, wondering if he even has any American money in his possession.
“No, no, sir, that’s all right. All been taken care of.” He slips out the door, shutting it gently behind him.
The house isn’t large, it’s quite cozy, really, but it seems suddenly enormous with only the two of them inside.
“Upstairs. Go,” Dom tells him vaguely, wandering in the general direction of the stairs.
“I’ll join you,” Billy answers. “Got to use the loo first.”
“Okay.”
As Billy’s shutting the door behind him, Dom’s beginning to climb. Billy hears the slow shuffle of his feet—and the fact that Dom’s talking to himself encouragingly, as if the man having such difficulty with a simple flight of steps is another person entirely.
“That’s it, that’s it. Good man,” Dom’s saying. Billy can’t help but shake his head. It’s so daft, so utterly Dom.
He’s just finishing up, feeling as if his world has now expanded to include something beyond his need to piss, when there’s a tremendous crash from the area of the stairs. Billy’s out the door in a heartbeat, not even thinking of tucking himself back inside his trousers, though he does so after a moment. Dom’s lying on his back half under the steps, a different glazed look in his eyes and blood on his lower lip.
“Ah, fuck,” he says reflectively. “Din’t make it, did I? Why does my mouth hurt?”
There’s blood on one of the steps as well, about halfway up. It makes Billy nervous to think of Dom falling from so high, and his first impulse is to make Dom lie very still, to ring emergency services and let someone more skilled, more knowledgeable, than he take charge of the situation—only Dom’s already pulling himself upright, grumbling a bit, though that seems to be more at his own clumsiness than anything else.
“Oof!” he says loudly, hauling himself to his feet. “I’m so bloody knackered, Bills.”
“Did you want to sleep on the sofa tonight? Not risk the stairs?”
“I want to sleep in our bed, with you—though I can’t promise there’ll be much pleasure in my company.” Dom begins his slow ascent again, pulling at the handrail, at the point where there is a handrail. It’s so unlike the Dom he knows—who’ll generally swarm up the stairs like a pirate up the rigging of an enemy ship, and frequently simply drops out of the loft, not bothering with the stairs at all—that Billy can’t shake the feeling, for a moment, that he’s brought home the wrong man, a fragile stranger not much suited to life in this hard world.
Dom’s laughing, though. “They’ve put bloody orchids on our pillows, Bills!” He’s flopping sideways across the bed then, dabbing at his split lip with the back of his hand, toeing off his trainers. “So, so, fuckin’ tired,” he complains. Billy can relate to the feeling. He’s much the same.
Still, he helps Dom off with his jumper and trousers, noticing that Dom’s actually worn pants beneath for once.
“Bloody said I would,” Dom informs him, as if reading Billy’s mind. “After all those days of running round the island in my jeans, because I hadn’t any, feeling jealous of you because you had, I swore I’d never fly without proper pants again. Probably saved our lives, I did.”
“You’re mental,” Billy answers, stripping off Dom’s socks, removing the orchids so that he can push Dom into a more comfortable position on the pillows, then covering him over warmly.
“Mmm, I can hear the sea,” Dom says, just before his eyes slip shut. “Lovely that, Bills. Lovely to be here with you.” He’s out then, and Billy’s watching his face, the long, thin lines of his eyelashes against the dark patches under his eyes, the sharp lines of his bones beneath his skin, his bloody lip, slightly puffed now, as if he’s been stung.
Billy takes the ring from his pocket, turning it round and round in his fingers, all smooth metal and the rise and fall of the pattern, the slight roughness of the words inside. “Happy to be here with you as well, love,” he says, finally, setting the ring in a little dish he keeps on his night-table.
He strips off his own clothes finally, glad to take fresh ones from the bureau drawers that are worn and his, not merely chosen for him by a well-meaning friend. He slides into the bed behind Dom, wrapping his arm around him, burying face in the back of Dom’s neck so that there’s nothing in the world but the smell of Dom, the feel of Dom’s body against his.
For a long time, he knows, he loved Dom—certainly he loved Dom, how could he not?—yet held something of himself back, behind neatly-constructed walls of his own invention. Those walls have all fallen now, the thought of life without Dom here, always close to him, more frightening than anything he could imagine. Even were he to be given a choice, all or nothing, between Dom and Scotland, there’s no doubt at all which he would pick. He holds Dom a bit tighter, running his hand up and down the soft fuzzy boniness of Dom’s chest and belly.
“Love you, lad,” he murmurs in Dom’s ear. “Would choose you over my Scotland, any day, even when you’re being a prat.”
In his sleep, Dom smiles a little, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Love you,” Billy says again, and presses his face into the exact middle of Dom’s back. “Love you more than my own life.”
Dom turns in his sleep, lying on his cast now, which can’t be comfortable for him. His good arm goes round Billy’s body, though, his hand stroking down Billy’s own back, over his bum, with a series of sweet, soft caresses. He mumbles something, smiling to himself, smiling more when Billy kisses him—three gentle kisses, two to his eyelids, one to his lips.
“Good, Bill,” he breathes. “Tha’s good, Bill.”
Next morning they rise late, and Dom seems listless. He’ll smile, and agree with whatever Billy says to him (that in itself setting off warning bells in Billy’s head—he’s accustomed to a Dom who argues, or mocks, or takes the piss out of him for the simple pleasure of doing so). When Billy makes him egg and toast for breakfast, Dom appears to have forgotten that the purpose of his fork is to actually convey food into his mouth, using it to build something of an egg-maze on his plate instead. When Billy measures out his pills, then leaves him to take a shower, Dom’s still staring at the tablets and capsules when he returns, sorting them into groups by colour or shape.
“Dom, take your pills,” Billy says, tightening the belt to his warm toweling dressing gown.
“What? Oh, yeah.” Dom rolls a capsule on the table with his fingertip, no closer to actually swallowing it than he’s been before.
“Something wrong?” Billy asks, taking the plate with the untouched toast and the egg-maze away. “Why’d you say you wanted breakfast when you didn’t?”
“Thought I’d manage,” Dom answers wearily. He slides his fingers into the top of his cast, then into the bottom, as if searching for an itch he’ll never be able to reach. “This damn thing. It’s like I’ve got ants in there, Billy. Makes me mental.”
“It comes off tomorrow, at least.”
“Yeah,” Dom says. “Yeah.” He straightens suddenly. “Let’s go for a walk, Billy. Shake the cobwebs out. I promise I’ll manage the pills when I get back.”
Billy moves to the back of Dom’s chair, wrapping his arms round him from behind, kissing the top of his hair, then the back of his neck.
“Mmn, nice that.” Dom arches like a kitten. He feels a little warm to Billy’s touch.
“You’re warm,” Billy says. “Sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Mum,” Dom laughs. “And anyway, I can’t be warm. I’m absolutely freezing. Will you bring me down my trackies so I won’t have to face the dreaded stair?”
“Glad to.” Billy shifts slightly, until he can look down into Dom’s face. “How’s the lip this morning.”
“Kissable,” Dom answers, getting an arm round Billy’s waist, pulling Billy down into his lap, kissing him thoroughly—warm, wet, sloppy kisses that make Billy believe absolutely that everything’s all right. It must be. Dom’s hand’s between his legs now, up under the folds of toweling, rubbing him softly.
“Stop that,” he says, but Dom doesn’t stop, and Billy doesn’t truly want him to. It’s so good, that pressure, so normal and comforting and arousing all at the same time.
“Wake up, wee Billy,” Dom laughs into his mouth, and Billy feels himself rising sharply against Dom’s palm, hard and hot and needing this, suddenly, as much as he’s needed anything in his life.
“God, not at the table, Dom,” he manages to gasp, though, and Dom laughs at him again, sliding Billy off his lap, still holding fast as he steers him out to the porch, leaning him up against the railings.
“The neighbors,” Billy gets out.
“At work.” Dom shrugs. “Not here. And anyway, we’ve fences to either side, so they’d not be able to see anything even if they were. Just don’t scream too loudly—“ He nips at Billy’s ear, then runs his tongue slowly over the sensitive space behind. “When you come.”
“That’s what I like,” Billy breathes. “A lad with confidence in his abilities.” It’s all he can manage, because Dom’s hand is indeed very clever, and those long fingers seem able to reach and touch him in all sorts of brilliant places at once. He’s trying to remember to keep breathing when Dom’s tongue delves into his mouth and Dom’s thigh comes up between his legs, and Billy finds himself pressing down against it, pressing and pressing, which must be the wrong thing to do, because suddenly they’re spilling onto the porch flooring, his body on top of Dom’s, Dom’s hand still gliding up the whole length of his cock, down to the root and back up again. Billy feels his balls go small and tight and his spine contract, until he’s spilling everywhere, pushing himself into the hand that’s brought him off, pushing himself into Dom’s body, until he absolutely can’t breathe and the world goes swoopy around him, but that’s okay, because he’s being held tight, held with love. He’s spent and warm and sleepy again, and it’s good just to rest against the body of someone he cares for so much, trusts so well.
Dom’s hand’s up beneath his dressing gown, stroking the small of Billy’s back, stroking his bum in slow, languorous touches, and he has the feeling he might just have been put off from something, but at that moment Billy doesn’t care. What he has in this moment is too good for him to care.
All through the day Dom’s touching him, distracting him—whilst they’re cleaning themselves up, during their long walk up the shore, through an afternoon of reading or watching the telly. It’s only after Dom’s gone up for an early bed-time that Billy realizes he hasn’t managed to get him to eat anything through the day, or to take his morning pills.
That’s all right, though, Billy supposes. One day won’t hurt anything.
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And oh, your story is brilliant and stuff ;)
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Oh.... CRAP.
Love this chapter, it appears that Dom is turning into his crafty, horny self again. At least I hope so!
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I've got a bad feeling about this. ::whimpers::
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Don't you dare do whatever it is you're thinking of doing :P
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This is what I love so much about your stories. You know these guys must have moments like this, and probably will for the rest of their lives. I mean, I find myself grinning like a fool whenever I hear or stumble across a LOTR reference, so you can just imagine what they must feel like. These kind of little details make the fics so real.
Sema: puttin' the "R" in RPS since 2001. ;)
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I want to print up the previous parts of your trilogy but you had mentioned retooling it and I wanted to be sure I had the final drafts. Were you going to let us know when that has been done?
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...and yet. I sense nastiness on the horizon. I think Dom won't be getting that cast off tomorrow?
don't hurt him too much, Sema! Poor wee Dom.
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And the most horrible thing is, I'm suddenly having images of Dom just coming home to DIE! *freaks more*
But the chapter was great, as always...I'm just...*freaks*
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I love the farret(if that's what it is indeed meant to be) yawning! So cute!
Yeah...I'm weird. *cough*
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Really lovely, as usual. Thank you!
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This was wonderful, complete with the utter cluelessness of the minder! I'm glad they're home, but scared of the significance of the last line, and of the ring being off Dom's hand. And if Dom doesn't eat something soon, he's going to become a puff of air, and that's just so wrong! *Thinks of "Doonesbury"*
Once again, I'm so happy to be seeing so many of these chapters!
Catherine
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Oh Dommie...take your meds, lad.
BILLEH! Get your mind off Dom's hand on your dick! Pay Attention!
GO SEMA! GO SEMA! Keep those chapters coming!
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Seriously, while I'm glad to see you writing, I'm even gladder to see you pull yourself up the path from the bottom. Been there. Done that. Got the t-shit. OH, I meant "shirt." But it's the shits and WE don't need it any more.
namaste SF Nancy
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... Uh-oh, says Pip, who is reading between the lines...
OI! Billeh! Listen to me a mo. D'you remember what it is your Dommie does for a living?
Yes, very good, Billy. He's an actor.
And what might this knowledge help us to realise, dear heart?
*sigh*
Cannot WAIT for Ch10! You've got the motor back in this story, Jane, really you do - it's practically moving itself. :D
Pip
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I've forgotten how much I enjoyed and looked forward to this story, until you starting posting it again! Who needs real life, anyway? ;)
Thank you, as always, for your wonderful
partsstories. And I'm sure your parts are lovely too! ;)Are you planning on updating the At Your Most Beautiful series as well, at some point? Although any chapter from you is eagerly welcomed with glee!!!
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Billy, sweetpea, tempting fate is unwise.
I loved Dom arranging his pills by colour and size :)
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Oh god. One day can hurt, Billy! MAKE HIM TAKE HIS PILLS!
Waiting in suspense for Ch. 10.
*wibbles some more*
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Lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, LOVELY.
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Brilliant chapter, Sema, but I'm terribly apprehensive about the next bit.
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You know I love you and I love how you write but I can't take the pain and suffering of these two anymore. Will you please make Dommie all well again? Please?
Love,
Sorka
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*scatters to read the next chapter*
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