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monaboyd Oct. 17th, 2004 12:06 am)
semaphore27.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Oct. 17th, 2004 12:06 am)Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Summary: In which even more things begin to return to normal.
Feedback: is always greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Previous chapter links:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Home, Chapter 13
Billy’s in the loft, stripping the sheets and pillowslips from bed, when he hears water running, then a loud thud from downstairs, then a second thud. He’s down the stairs, breathless, his heart beating too fast, without the slightest memory of having moved. “Dom? Dom?” His voice comes out too high and a little panicked. “Where are you? You all right?”
Dom looks up at him from the kitchen floor, mildly bemused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
It takes Billy a further minute to comprehend what he’s seeing. Yes, Dom’s on the floor, but he’s on his knees and there’s a large pail of soapy water beside him, a big, dripping sponge in his hand. Billy can’t speak.
Dom sits back on his heels, giving him a slightly sideways grin. “I’m washing the kitchen floor, Bills, since we seem to have taken a vow of cleanliness lately.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Billy answers faintly. He can feel the sheets slipping from his arms, dropping into a pool around his feet.
“Reckon I’m godlike enough, actually, but I still thought I’d clean the floor.” Dom gives him a long look, then drops the sponge into the pail, wiping his wet hand on the back of his trousers. “C’mere, would you?”
Billy wants to pick up the sheets, but instead he stumbles over them, leaving the crumpled pile where it lies. When he’s close, Dom’s fingers curve round his, still damp, still slightly warm from the water, giving a little tug, until Billy also sinks to his knees and they’re facing one another.
“Bills.” Dom’s thumb rubs over his palm, over his wrist. “Gave you a scare, did I?”
Billy nods again, not trusting the quality of his voice.
“You heard noise and thought I’d fallen? That it was starting all over again?” He raises Billy’s hand in his own, touching the back of it to his cheek. “See, Bills? Cool.” Dom moves the hand to rest just above his heart. “Strong.” Over to the black fiberglass of the contraption on his arm. “A bloody nuisance, but healing well enough, thank you.” He leans forward then, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to Billy’s mouth. “All right now?”
Billy gives another nod.
“Then see to those sheets, why don’t you? I’ll join you in the lounge when I’ve finished here. Yes?”
“Yes,” Billy answers. It’s difficult to recognise his own voice. He gathers up the abandoned laundry, telling himself he’s not trembling, he’s not.
Dom begins to sing, happily off-key, splashing water all over the floor. Billy never can bear to watch him wash floors, but they always turn out sparkling somehow—nicer than his own, Billy has to admit, though he’s not certain at which point in the process that occurs.
They’ve laundry machines tucked away in a sort of little cupboard off the pantry, the dryer stacked atop the washer. Billy scoops clean clothes out of the dryer into a basket, transfers the wet ones upward and puts the sheets in to wash. It’s only when they’re agitating slowly and the machine’s safely shut that he gives in to his fit of the shakes, leaning up against the thrumming appliance. Dom was right. He was right. He’d thought…
He’d thought it was starting in all over again. That it wouldn’t ever end.”
After a few moments, Dom’s voice comes to him distantly. “Washing machine ogre get you, Bills?”
Billy runs his hands over his face. He’s sweating, and the sweat feels cold on his skin. “Aye,” he answers. “He’s a bit better looking than you, mate. Smells better too. Thanks for the memories and all that.”
“I’m certain you’ll be very happy together,” Dom replies, with one of those low, velvety laughs that put a soft, warm glow into the pit of Billy’s stomach.
Billy picks up the basket, carrying it through to the lounge, and sits on the sofa with the pile of jumbled clothes between his knees. It’s more than his hands can do, though, to begin the simple, repetitive motions of folding t-shirts and pants and socks.
After a moment, there’s the sound of water being poured down the loo, followed by the arrival of a slightly damp Dom. Billy can feel his glance, those bright, observant blue eyes flicking over his face. He’d like to say something, but what is there to be said, really?
After a moment, Dom takes a seat on the sofa beside him. His knee brushes Billy’s, then taps against it. “Oi.”
“What is it, Dom?” Billy’s voice comes out sounding impatient, but he doesn’t mean for it to sound impatient, it’s just that there’s all this fear and uncertainty knotted up inside him, with no good way he knows of to release the tension.
“Just wishing you had your kilt on.”
“Why’s that, Dom?” It’s the last thing in the world he expected Dom to say, but perhaps he ought to consider it par for the course. This time, Billy realizes, he’s managed to sound irritated, and he’d like to give his voice a stern talking-to, for making him express things so far removed from what it is he feels.
“’Cause…” Dom’s hand rests lightly on Billy’s knee, then slides its slow way upward. “Not sure if I’ve ever told you this, but I secretly fancy shagging you silly whilst you’re wearing a kilt. Something to do with all those folds of scratchy wool, I imagine. They just seem to cry out, “Dom, we’re here just to be lifted. Lift us up, do.”
“You’re daft,” Billy tells him, but by that point Dom’s fingers have made progress all the way up from the top of his thigh to his belt, working the buckle with the same slow care, slipping the trouser button through its hole and easing down the zip, all the while with his eyes fixed on some seemingly random point within the room.
“Dom,” Billy breathes, and there’s a moment during which he wishes for Dom to touch him, stroke him, bite and lick and fondle him halfway to oblivion, just like in the old days, but then more recent memories kick in.
“Hmn?” Dom replies, all innocence. “Care to stand a moment? Make this easier for me?”
“We’ve no sheets on our bed.” Billy doesn’t stand. His heart’s beating too fast again, though not in the way it normally would when Dom touches him.
“Hadn’t intended to go to bed.”
“The sofa’s leather.”
“Such a muppet,” Dom says, producing a large towel out of the laundry basket with a simple flick of his wrist, like a magician’s trick.
Billy catches hold of his arm, holding just the slightest bit too forcefully.. “Dom. No.” He’s unaccountably angry, even though he knows, in his rational mind, that there’s no real reason, that Dom is better, that their intimacy won’t lead to another disaster. “Listen to me,” he snaps. “N. O. No.”
Dom glances down at Billy’s hand on his wrist and something hurt comes into his face. It’s like watching a puppy that’s been shouted at, and for the life of him Billy can’t imagine how Dom’s made it to twenty-eight years of age and still found himself capable of such an expression, but he is, and it’s not acting. It’s genuine, and Billy knows he’s earned it. Dom scarcely ever looks at him that way, but every time he has, Billy’s known he’s more than earned it.
For a moment Dom’s body tenses, as if he’s going to rise and walk away, but then his hand curls in on itself, making a fist, extending again, making a fist, extending. His breathing’s slow and careful.
“All right, then,” Dom says, obviously keeping his voice light, shrugging. “All right, Bills. Suit yourself. S’pose we should get that laundry folded before it creases.” He reaches for a piece at random, dropping it onto his lap.
“You needn’t,” Billy tells him softly.
Dom glances up from the pair of pants spread across his knees, folding them deftly, one-handed, without looking. “About time I started to pull my weight around here.” He puts the pants aside, pulling out one of Billy’s t-shirts instead. It’s fascinating how he’s able to make the sleeves go right, folding it all up into a neat little parcel.
Billy’s not certain what he ought to say at that point, and so he does his flies up quickly and sets to with the folding as well, until the basket’s empty, after which Dom loads everything back in again, takes it by one handle, and proceeds toward the stairs.
“Dom, I could…”
“Got it,” Dom answers shortly, shifting the basket slightly in his grip. His footsteps are soft on the steps going up and for a time there’s nothing but the quiet scrape of bureau-drawers as they’re pulled out, then pushed in again. After that, there’s nothing at all. When Billy goes upstairs with a second load of laundry, he finds Dom lying on his back atop the now-neatly-made-up bed, his good arm propped under his head as he stares up through the skylight. The heavy black splint lies in a jumble on the sisal rug beside the bed.
Dom’s used the plain sheets, the light blue ones, the ones he always claims are no fun at all. Billy can’t help but wonder if there’s a message in them for him.
Billy doesn’t mean to nag, doesn’t mean to treat Dom like a child, but the words emerge from his mouth before he can stop them. “Are you meant to take that off?” he asks, gesturing at the splint. When Dom merely looks at him, he perches on the edge of the stripped bed.
“Long as I’m still,” Dom answers. “Long as I’m careful.” He looks as if he’d like to roll over, but with the carapace removed he can’t go to his left--and if he goes to his right he’ll be facing Billy.
Billy toes off his own shoes, stretching out beside Dom, not quite touching. “That’s all right, then.”
“Yeah.”
Billy runs his fingertips down the scar that runs along nearly the entire underside of Dom’s left arm. He’s been told it will heal nicely, that one day it may scarcely be noticeable, but just now it looks red and angry, a twisted, knotted line. Dom shudders a bit at his touch.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you, Dommie,” Billy says softly, meaning a number of things.
“No, it’s all right,” Dom answers. His eyes leave the skylight at last, turning to Billy’s eyes instead. “Doesn’t hurt, really, to touch, not much. Only if I move it. Hurts like fuckin’ hell then. I’ll be an old man and still taking physiotherapy for the damn thing.”
“That wasn’t entirely what I meant,” Billy tells him. He moves the flat of his hand over Dom’s shoulder, along his bicep, down to his elbow. He likes to touch Dom’s arms, generally--always has: the taut skin with curves of shifting muscle beneath, made golden by the sun. The arm now feels like a slight sheathe of jelly with the bones hard underneath, covered over with skin that seems unimaginably thin, frighteningly fragile. Billy kisses Dom, gently as he possibly can, just on the inside of the elbow, the place that’s most tender of all.
“I know what you meant.” Dom’s right hand brushes over Billy’s hair, fingertips stroking down the back of Billy’s neck. “Bills, I’ll be going back to work Tuesday week.”
“That’s soon,” Billy says. He’s a bit ashamed to hear his voice crack.
“Yeah,” Dom answers. “It’ll be easy work, though. Nothing physical—I’ve told them it can’t be much of anything physical--and they’ll cluster my scenes together as much as possible, to make a shorter day for me. Just… I need to know I still can, understand? Had a dream last night that I couldn’t, that I was hopeless.” His hand pauses, flat against Billy’s back. “Don’t want to be hopeless, Bills.”
“You’re not,” Billy answers. “You’re not. It’s only…”
Dom watches, waiting for him to speak.
“It’s only…” Billy feels himself tripping over his words. “It’s only that I thought I’d have you to myself longer, be able to keep an eye out for you longer. That’s all.”
“I shan’t go then, if it’s a problem.”
For a moment Billy considers pleading, Don’t, Dom. Please don’t go, Dom. I need you here, still, where I can see you every moment, see you’re all right, that you haven’t been hurt again. The thing is, he knows how Dom hates to be without work, without activity. For himself, he’s become a bit lazy when it comes to his career, especially just now, when motion seems so difficult, when being here, in one place that’s home, Dom close to him and safe, has become so absolutely vital. He’ll work again, he knows that—only not just now. When he does return to the stage, or to the cameras, when he’s ready, it will all come back to him, but this isn’t that time.
For just now he’d as soon spend his days sitting on the seashore, watching the waves wash in and out again, knowing everything that makes up his world is still in place: Dom at work but certain to be home soon, their house, electric lights and running water and music and films. He’d rather putter about the house, doodle on his guitar, ring friends now and then, when he has the impulse.
The first time he went to the shops for supplies, Billy found himself standing in awe before the bread display, thinking, It’s all here, it’s all still here, we haven’t lost anything after all.
“It’s not a problem, Dom. Honestly, it’s not a problem. I love you.”
“I worry about you, Bills.”
Billy laughs.
“Honestly. I mean that. I’ve learnt my lesson, I’m well, I’ll behave myself—at least to the extent that I’m capable—“ A wee flash of grin then. “I’ll not do anything bloody thick that’s going to get me hurt again.”
“You’re not capable.” Billy means to laugh then, but can’t manage it somehow. He realizes that his hands are shaking, and curls them into fists so that Dom won’t see—though of course Dom does. It’s the sort of thing Dom will always notice.
“Billy?” Dom’s hand rubs over his knuckles, the warmth of his touch allowing Billy to go still again. “I mean what I say. If you aren’t ready yet for me to be away from you, I won’t do it. No one will hold that against either of us, Bills, you know they won’t. Everyone understands. There’s no question about breach of contract or anything else. Honestly, when JJ rang yesterday, it was all, ‘No need to worry, Dom. That’s the good thing about mysterious islands, isn’t it? Nothing strange about a little disappearance on a mysterious island.’”
“Convenient, that,” Billy says, trying to inject a bit of humour into his voice and pleased to find that he succeeds quite well.
“Yeah, convenient.” Dom’s eyes go distant for a moment, then focus sharply again. “Look, d’you mind fetching up my exoskeleton? It’s time to be shut back inside.”
There’s a length of white stockinet that slides over Dom’s arm first, protecting the still-tender scar from catching against the foam padding. That’s what makes the brace so bulky—that it’s so thoroughly padded, like something that might be used in some form of sport far more violent than American football. It seems wrong to encase Dom’s fragile arm in such a large, awkward thing.
“They’ll be careful, won’t they?” Billy asks, threading tapes through loops and doing each one up firmly. “Obviously, you won’t be able to have this, but there’ll be something, won’t there, to keep you from being hurt?”
“Billy.” Dom’s voice is lovingly exasperated. “No, they intend to have me climbing trees, and cliffs, and running through the jungle full tilt with nothing to protect me. What do you think?”
“That I worry.”
“You do worry.” Dom’s hand curls once more round the back of Billy’s head, bringing Billy’s face close to his own.. They regard one another, for a moment, from this extremely close perspective, and then Dom’s eyes slip shut. His mouth finds Billy’s with a minimum of fumbling, and Billy’s lips part automatically. He knows Dom’s tongue will slip inside, exploring him with quick little lightning touches, then with long, slow stokes—which it does, exactly as Billy’s expected, except that with Dom nothing’s exactly what he expected.
Despite his earlier reluctance, he wants this suddenly, this closeness, no separation between them. He feels as he felt when he was very young, inexperienced, slipping his hands in beneath Dom’s shirt, then down, caressing the small of his back, stroking the tight curves of his bum. Dom pushes up against him, then suddenly, somehow, they’ve both slipped to the floor, onto their knees, awkward because they're still connected, yet at the same time not awkward at all.
Dom’s sucking at Billy’s lower lip, and he’s somehow managed to get Billy’s flies unfastened again, but this time Dom’s cool hand, with its long, slender fingers has gone down inside, past the zip, and it’s far beyond Billy’s control to say anything, or even to want to say anything beyond, “Aye, that’s good, that’s good, Dommie. Just there.” He shifts as Dom’s fingers find all the sweet bits, the sensitive bits only Dom knows about, then Dom’s voice is in his ear again, “Up on the bed, Bills, up on the bed. Turn round and face me.”
Billy obeys, allowing his suddenly-undone trousers to drop round his ankles. Dom’s hand moves, getting under the elastic of his parts, lifting it over the erection Billy should have known he was getting all along, only he feels so oddly removed from his body now, so much of the time.
“Ssh, ssh,” Dom’s telling him, still in that low, velvety voice that always reminds Billy, oddly, of tigers purring. The pants slide down his legs, down to his ankles, and Billy kicks them aside, sinking, when they’re gone, down onto the edge of the bed. He hasn’t known he’s been making any sound of his own, but he supposes he must have been, if Dom’s hushing him. It’s all right for Dom, out of all the people in the world, to hush him.
Dom’s face is against his chest now, Dom’s warm breath on his skin, then Dom’s teasing at his nipples with teeth and tongue until Billy feels his own breath go strange. He’s still afraid, still has that voice inside his head shouting at him, Stop this, stop it! but then Dom’s mouth closes over the head of his cock, sucking gently. Dom’s tongue teases round the rim and Billy’s lost then, carried away on the hot, wet pressure inside Dom’s mouth. His own hands are weaving through Dom’s hair, urging his head closer, until he’s entirely enclosed within Dom’s mouth and throat, with Dom’s fingers stroking teasingly behind his balls. The hard edges of the splint press against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, but Billy’s far beyond caring.
A soft noise of protest escapes him when Dom’s mouth suddenly pulls away, at the same time he’s afraid something’s gone wrong again, that he really ought to have stopped before things ever reached this point.
“’s all right, ‘s all right,” Dom’s panting. “Just… I want…”
In some part of his brain even he doesn’t understand, Billy knows exactly what it is Dom wants, and he stretches along the bed, reaching into the drawer of the bedside table for the bottle of lubricant that’s kept there, amidst the rat’s nest of random objects Dom’s dropped inside. He slides onto his knees again, facing Dom, spilling a generous dollop of lube into his cupped palm, working it gently onto Dom’s half-erect cock, feeling the organ thicken and go hard under his touch. There’s a look of deep concentration on Dom’s face and with it the slightly-trollied expression he gets when he’s deep into bliss.
Billy’s never been able to see Lost without thinking, when Charlie takes his drugs, There’s my Dommie. There’s my Dommie’s face when he comes for me. He’ll laugh then, and Dom will punch his arm, not particularly hard, though Billy will say “ouch!” and rub the spot until Dom leans over to kiss him there. Dom ends up with his head in Billy’s lap most times, his hand curled round Billy’s arm, gazing up into his face from underneath as Billy strokes his hair and watches the television screen.
Dom’s in the first stages of that expression now, his eyes shut and chin lifted a little. He’s breathing, “Ah, Bills, yeah, that’s it, Bills, love you, Billy.”
“Against the side here?” Billy asks, knowing there’s no way Dom could hold himself up above him on the bed, whatever position they use.
“Er…” Dom’s blushing a bit, slipping back into himself. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good,” he murmurs, as Billy shifts into position, facing the bed with his back to Dom, on his knees on the rug, arms braced against the mattress. Dom’s hand returns to Billy’s cock, cupping him, squeezing gently as he kisses the back of Billy’s neck, the curve of Billy’s shoulder, nuzzling into his hair. “God, so good, Bills.” He’s parting Billy’s legs then, his hardness slipping into the cleft between. “You’re so good, Billy.”
Billy squeezes his buttocks together a bit, just to tease him, eliciting from Dom a noise that’s half laugh and half gasp. “Lube?” he says, his hand appearing at a spot level with Billy’s navel.
“As you wish,” Billy answers, but when he squeezes the bottle half the slippery gel misses Dom’s palm entirely, landing in a viscous glob on the once-clean sheets.
Dom only laughs. “Bit of a misfire there, Bills.”
“I’ll change…”
“No. Stay. Stay.” Dom’s hand is at his entrance now, rubbing the tightness with slippery fingers until the muscles loosen, teasing his thumb inside just gently, though the painful/pleasurable pressure and his own need make Billy half-dizzy. Before he knows it, the thumb’s gone and a finger takes its place inside him, rubbing away the tension, pressing against that perfect spot that makes his brain completely shut off, though a wave of absolute rightness, absolute love and trust and undiluted pleasure shoots through him.
“Ah, Dom. M’Dommie.” There’s a second finger inside him now, no more trouble than the first, except that by this time his pulse pounds in his ears, as well as setting a slow, steady, pleasurable throb through his thighs, through his belly and into his cock itself.
“Just here, Billy,” Dom’s breathing raggedly against Billy’s shoulder now, licking and nipping the skin down the back of Billy’s neck, bending him at a slightly easier angle over the bed, even as he presses slowly, slowly inside, his slightly greater height allowing him to move easily—more easily, at any rate, than Billy would do, were their positions reversed. For a moment it hurts, it just hurts as it always does, but once Dom’s gone all the way in the discomfort stops abruptly—again, just as it always does.
Billy pushes back against him, matching Dom’s rhythm, shivering a little at the warm uneven breaths against the back of his head, the soft, whispered obscenities in his ear. Dom’s arm is hooked around Billy’s hip, both for balance and to keep him close, his hand still working at Billy’s own erection. Billy slips his own hand in front of them, gliding down Dom’s arm and onto the hand itself, holding it still so that he’s pushing against their linked fingers as Dom pushes into him. His weight’s heavy across Billy’s shoulders, heavier than it should be, his sweat hot and slick against Billy’s back.
Billy turns his head much as he can, trying to see the flushed face so close to his own, Dom’s eyes glazed with pleasure and weariness. “Slowly, Dommie,” he murmurs. “Slowly, love. Not a race, you know.”
“Just... Last…”
“You’ll last, céile, you’ll last.” Billy takes over the rhythm, slowing it, pushing back hard into every thrust Dom makes, until the pleasurable throb goes all through him and Dom’s uttering sharp, choked little cries into Billy’s hair, until Billy’s gone so hard under Dom’s and his own hands that he doesn’t believe he can hold off one instant longer without Dom bringing him to his climax.
Dom’s holding him then, stroking Billy in, long, slightly-erratic passes, his hand slick with sweat and with the moisture Billy’s leaked onto him. He picks up the pace again to match the movement of his hand, until Billy’s gasping, his cock like something molten beneath Dom’s touch, Dom as deep into him as he’ll go, pulling back a bit then pushing in again, the thickness of him gliding over Billy’s prostate, shifting his hips just the slightest bit, to a slightly different angle, the angle that hits him perfectly, so that he cries out, “Oh, God, oh my God. Jaysus feck, Dommie.”
Dom pushes into him one last time, that same deep penetration, holding Billy tight against him, his breath stuttering out, then stopping altogether. There’s the push and the quiver, the shudder of Dom’s muscles against his own. Then another shudder, as Dom cries out softly and then the warm rush goes through him, filling him, and there’s a low sound from Dom’s throat that might be Billy’s own name.
Billy braces himself harder, taking both their weights, Dom’s hand moving in sharp little jerks over his cock until Billy’s calling Dom’s name too, using his own hand to set up a rhythm again, all his awareness pulling into nothing but a pinprick of knife-edged, absolute pleasure. He’s spilling over Dom’s hand, spilling and spilling until, in the moment before he’s flying out into another part of space and all his muscles have somehow transmuted to the consistency of overcooked pasta.
Dom’s head rests heavily on Billy’s shoulder, though his hand’s still stroking down Billy’s abdomen in feather-light touches. “Was okay, Bills?” he murmurs, with a certain sleepy satisfaction.
“You were brilliant, love,” Billy answers, slipping carefully away until he’s facing Dom again, until Dom’s resting against him. They’re sticky and messy, and Billy’s not entirely certain his legs will support him should he try to rise, much less support him whilst allowing him to raise Dom to his feet as well.
“Should clean up,” Dom says. “You’re always miserable like this, damned particular bastard.”
Billy can’t help but laugh again. “Aye, that we should.”
“Rather hold you—manky as you are.” Dom has a way of snuggling into him, just fitting their two bodies together, that’s like no one Billy’s ever known, or expected to know. There’s warmth there, and completeness. “Yeah—rather hold you.” He’s quiet then, for a time, tracing the lines of Billy’s thigh and bum and back with his fingertips. Normally, Billy’s ticklish, but there’s a way Dom’s learned to touch him that’s not like that at all—it’s as if Dom’s hands (or hand, in this case) have become a part of his own flesh.
Flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood, Billy remembers his gran saying, or something of the sort--he's not certain he recalls the words exactly--even if she wouldn’t have approved of the way he’s using the phrase, in this context.
Billy rises, finding after a second or two have passed that he can stand after all, and can help Dom to his feet as well, even though Dom clings to him for quite a bit more time, trying to get his bearings again. “Just don’t…” Billy begins, then thinks better of it.
Dom’s giving his questioning look, though, both brows raised.
“It’s just, don’t let them ask you to do more than you’re able. Don’t pretend to be all right when you’re not.” The words come out in a rush, and Billy’s sorry at once that he’s said them, and the same moment he’s not sorry in the least.
Dom sinks down on the edge of the bed, still looking up at him, his eyes unreadable, storm-cloud grey, yet otherwise scarcely seeming stormy at all. He cradles the heavy brace in his lap, tapping on the fiberglass idly with his fingertips. “You mean, as I’ve done to you this whole time?” He crosses one leg over the other, bare foot swinging. There’s an imprint like the pattern of a waffle on his knee, red from kneeling on the sisal rug.
Billy doesn’t answer, doesn’t smile, either—though they understand one another perfectly.
“It’s only…” Dom says after a time. “It’s only I wanted you so much, and you know how I am, with the delayed gratification and that sort of thing. I just… I didn’t…” He glances up again, and this time his eyes meet Billy’s fully, somberly. It’s not a look Billy remembers seeing on Dom’s face in the past, not when he’s his real self, only when he’s acting. “Bills, I wanted you so much, and I’d keeping thinking, ‘This time, it will be all right. This time I’m strong enough,’ even when I knew in my heart I wasn’t. I wanted to be, was bloody tearing myself apart to be, because I wanted to be myself again, and I wanted you.”
Don’t be like that, Dommie, Billy wants to say, Don’t hurt yourself with loving me, but then he thinks what it was like, all those long, slow days through which he didn’t know if Dom would live or Dom would die, only that he himself would have given up anything, made any sacrifice, to see him come out the other side, just like this, with his changeable eyes and lightning-flashes of expression, his smiles and laughter, his outrageous jokes and odd culinary experiments.
“Living with you,” Billy says, “Will always be an adventure.”
Dom appears to consider for a moment, then gives one of those flashing smiles, his eyes sparkling, crinkled at their corners in the lovely way he has that’s his alone, because no one else in the whole of the world smiles like Dom. He laughs, one of those low, wicked, delighted laughs that seem to promise their owner’s up to no good, but that the ensuing mischief should be enjoyable in the extreme.
“We ought to have a bath,” Dom says.
“We ought to.” Billy gives one of his own smiles, watching Dom’s face light up even more. “Stinky Stinkerson.”
“I’m not alone in that, Stinky MacStinkerson.” Dom’s laugh turns delighted. “I’ve bubbles, by the way.”
“Have you?”
“Passionfruit, they’re meant to be. I’ll need your considered opinion as to whether that’s actually the case.”
“Just so that you know—if they’re pink, I’m having none of it.”
“Golden,” Dom answers, wrapping his arm round Billy’s neck, reeling him in for another of those firm, tender, open-mouthed kisses, until Billy’s slightly breathless.
“Yes,” Dom says at last, when they’ve parted, when Billy’s hand is firmly wrapped around his own yet they don’t dare look at one another for fear that fits of laughing must follow, inevitably. “Absolutely pure bloody gold.”
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Summary: In which even more things begin to return to normal.
Feedback: is always greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Previous chapter links:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Home, Chapter 13
Billy’s in the loft, stripping the sheets and pillowslips from bed, when he hears water running, then a loud thud from downstairs, then a second thud. He’s down the stairs, breathless, his heart beating too fast, without the slightest memory of having moved. “Dom? Dom?” His voice comes out too high and a little panicked. “Where are you? You all right?”
Dom looks up at him from the kitchen floor, mildly bemused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
It takes Billy a further minute to comprehend what he’s seeing. Yes, Dom’s on the floor, but he’s on his knees and there’s a large pail of soapy water beside him, a big, dripping sponge in his hand. Billy can’t speak.
Dom sits back on his heels, giving him a slightly sideways grin. “I’m washing the kitchen floor, Bills, since we seem to have taken a vow of cleanliness lately.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Billy answers faintly. He can feel the sheets slipping from his arms, dropping into a pool around his feet.
“Reckon I’m godlike enough, actually, but I still thought I’d clean the floor.” Dom gives him a long look, then drops the sponge into the pail, wiping his wet hand on the back of his trousers. “C’mere, would you?”
Billy wants to pick up the sheets, but instead he stumbles over them, leaving the crumpled pile where it lies. When he’s close, Dom’s fingers curve round his, still damp, still slightly warm from the water, giving a little tug, until Billy also sinks to his knees and they’re facing one another.
“Bills.” Dom’s thumb rubs over his palm, over his wrist. “Gave you a scare, did I?”
Billy nods again, not trusting the quality of his voice.
“You heard noise and thought I’d fallen? That it was starting all over again?” He raises Billy’s hand in his own, touching the back of it to his cheek. “See, Bills? Cool.” Dom moves the hand to rest just above his heart. “Strong.” Over to the black fiberglass of the contraption on his arm. “A bloody nuisance, but healing well enough, thank you.” He leans forward then, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to Billy’s mouth. “All right now?”
Billy gives another nod.
“Then see to those sheets, why don’t you? I’ll join you in the lounge when I’ve finished here. Yes?”
“Yes,” Billy answers. It’s difficult to recognise his own voice. He gathers up the abandoned laundry, telling himself he’s not trembling, he’s not.
Dom begins to sing, happily off-key, splashing water all over the floor. Billy never can bear to watch him wash floors, but they always turn out sparkling somehow—nicer than his own, Billy has to admit, though he’s not certain at which point in the process that occurs.
They’ve laundry machines tucked away in a sort of little cupboard off the pantry, the dryer stacked atop the washer. Billy scoops clean clothes out of the dryer into a basket, transfers the wet ones upward and puts the sheets in to wash. It’s only when they’re agitating slowly and the machine’s safely shut that he gives in to his fit of the shakes, leaning up against the thrumming appliance. Dom was right. He was right. He’d thought…
He’d thought it was starting in all over again. That it wouldn’t ever end.”
After a few moments, Dom’s voice comes to him distantly. “Washing machine ogre get you, Bills?”
Billy runs his hands over his face. He’s sweating, and the sweat feels cold on his skin. “Aye,” he answers. “He’s a bit better looking than you, mate. Smells better too. Thanks for the memories and all that.”
“I’m certain you’ll be very happy together,” Dom replies, with one of those low, velvety laughs that put a soft, warm glow into the pit of Billy’s stomach.
Billy picks up the basket, carrying it through to the lounge, and sits on the sofa with the pile of jumbled clothes between his knees. It’s more than his hands can do, though, to begin the simple, repetitive motions of folding t-shirts and pants and socks.
After a moment, there’s the sound of water being poured down the loo, followed by the arrival of a slightly damp Dom. Billy can feel his glance, those bright, observant blue eyes flicking over his face. He’d like to say something, but what is there to be said, really?
After a moment, Dom takes a seat on the sofa beside him. His knee brushes Billy’s, then taps against it. “Oi.”
“What is it, Dom?” Billy’s voice comes out sounding impatient, but he doesn’t mean for it to sound impatient, it’s just that there’s all this fear and uncertainty knotted up inside him, with no good way he knows of to release the tension.
“Just wishing you had your kilt on.”
“Why’s that, Dom?” It’s the last thing in the world he expected Dom to say, but perhaps he ought to consider it par for the course. This time, Billy realizes, he’s managed to sound irritated, and he’d like to give his voice a stern talking-to, for making him express things so far removed from what it is he feels.
“’Cause…” Dom’s hand rests lightly on Billy’s knee, then slides its slow way upward. “Not sure if I’ve ever told you this, but I secretly fancy shagging you silly whilst you’re wearing a kilt. Something to do with all those folds of scratchy wool, I imagine. They just seem to cry out, “Dom, we’re here just to be lifted. Lift us up, do.”
“You’re daft,” Billy tells him, but by that point Dom’s fingers have made progress all the way up from the top of his thigh to his belt, working the buckle with the same slow care, slipping the trouser button through its hole and easing down the zip, all the while with his eyes fixed on some seemingly random point within the room.
“Dom,” Billy breathes, and there’s a moment during which he wishes for Dom to touch him, stroke him, bite and lick and fondle him halfway to oblivion, just like in the old days, but then more recent memories kick in.
“Hmn?” Dom replies, all innocence. “Care to stand a moment? Make this easier for me?”
“We’ve no sheets on our bed.” Billy doesn’t stand. His heart’s beating too fast again, though not in the way it normally would when Dom touches him.
“Hadn’t intended to go to bed.”
“The sofa’s leather.”
“Such a muppet,” Dom says, producing a large towel out of the laundry basket with a simple flick of his wrist, like a magician’s trick.
Billy catches hold of his arm, holding just the slightest bit too forcefully.. “Dom. No.” He’s unaccountably angry, even though he knows, in his rational mind, that there’s no real reason, that Dom is better, that their intimacy won’t lead to another disaster. “Listen to me,” he snaps. “N. O. No.”
Dom glances down at Billy’s hand on his wrist and something hurt comes into his face. It’s like watching a puppy that’s been shouted at, and for the life of him Billy can’t imagine how Dom’s made it to twenty-eight years of age and still found himself capable of such an expression, but he is, and it’s not acting. It’s genuine, and Billy knows he’s earned it. Dom scarcely ever looks at him that way, but every time he has, Billy’s known he’s more than earned it.
For a moment Dom’s body tenses, as if he’s going to rise and walk away, but then his hand curls in on itself, making a fist, extending again, making a fist, extending. His breathing’s slow and careful.
“All right, then,” Dom says, obviously keeping his voice light, shrugging. “All right, Bills. Suit yourself. S’pose we should get that laundry folded before it creases.” He reaches for a piece at random, dropping it onto his lap.
“You needn’t,” Billy tells him softly.
Dom glances up from the pair of pants spread across his knees, folding them deftly, one-handed, without looking. “About time I started to pull my weight around here.” He puts the pants aside, pulling out one of Billy’s t-shirts instead. It’s fascinating how he’s able to make the sleeves go right, folding it all up into a neat little parcel.
Billy’s not certain what he ought to say at that point, and so he does his flies up quickly and sets to with the folding as well, until the basket’s empty, after which Dom loads everything back in again, takes it by one handle, and proceeds toward the stairs.
“Dom, I could…”
“Got it,” Dom answers shortly, shifting the basket slightly in his grip. His footsteps are soft on the steps going up and for a time there’s nothing but the quiet scrape of bureau-drawers as they’re pulled out, then pushed in again. After that, there’s nothing at all. When Billy goes upstairs with a second load of laundry, he finds Dom lying on his back atop the now-neatly-made-up bed, his good arm propped under his head as he stares up through the skylight. The heavy black splint lies in a jumble on the sisal rug beside the bed.
Dom’s used the plain sheets, the light blue ones, the ones he always claims are no fun at all. Billy can’t help but wonder if there’s a message in them for him.
Billy doesn’t mean to nag, doesn’t mean to treat Dom like a child, but the words emerge from his mouth before he can stop them. “Are you meant to take that off?” he asks, gesturing at the splint. When Dom merely looks at him, he perches on the edge of the stripped bed.
“Long as I’m still,” Dom answers. “Long as I’m careful.” He looks as if he’d like to roll over, but with the carapace removed he can’t go to his left--and if he goes to his right he’ll be facing Billy.
Billy toes off his own shoes, stretching out beside Dom, not quite touching. “That’s all right, then.”
“Yeah.”
Billy runs his fingertips down the scar that runs along nearly the entire underside of Dom’s left arm. He’s been told it will heal nicely, that one day it may scarcely be noticeable, but just now it looks red and angry, a twisted, knotted line. Dom shudders a bit at his touch.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you, Dommie,” Billy says softly, meaning a number of things.
“No, it’s all right,” Dom answers. His eyes leave the skylight at last, turning to Billy’s eyes instead. “Doesn’t hurt, really, to touch, not much. Only if I move it. Hurts like fuckin’ hell then. I’ll be an old man and still taking physiotherapy for the damn thing.”
“That wasn’t entirely what I meant,” Billy tells him. He moves the flat of his hand over Dom’s shoulder, along his bicep, down to his elbow. He likes to touch Dom’s arms, generally--always has: the taut skin with curves of shifting muscle beneath, made golden by the sun. The arm now feels like a slight sheathe of jelly with the bones hard underneath, covered over with skin that seems unimaginably thin, frighteningly fragile. Billy kisses Dom, gently as he possibly can, just on the inside of the elbow, the place that’s most tender of all.
“I know what you meant.” Dom’s right hand brushes over Billy’s hair, fingertips stroking down the back of Billy’s neck. “Bills, I’ll be going back to work Tuesday week.”
“That’s soon,” Billy says. He’s a bit ashamed to hear his voice crack.
“Yeah,” Dom answers. “It’ll be easy work, though. Nothing physical—I’ve told them it can’t be much of anything physical--and they’ll cluster my scenes together as much as possible, to make a shorter day for me. Just… I need to know I still can, understand? Had a dream last night that I couldn’t, that I was hopeless.” His hand pauses, flat against Billy’s back. “Don’t want to be hopeless, Bills.”
“You’re not,” Billy answers. “You’re not. It’s only…”
Dom watches, waiting for him to speak.
“It’s only…” Billy feels himself tripping over his words. “It’s only that I thought I’d have you to myself longer, be able to keep an eye out for you longer. That’s all.”
“I shan’t go then, if it’s a problem.”
For a moment Billy considers pleading, Don’t, Dom. Please don’t go, Dom. I need you here, still, where I can see you every moment, see you’re all right, that you haven’t been hurt again. The thing is, he knows how Dom hates to be without work, without activity. For himself, he’s become a bit lazy when it comes to his career, especially just now, when motion seems so difficult, when being here, in one place that’s home, Dom close to him and safe, has become so absolutely vital. He’ll work again, he knows that—only not just now. When he does return to the stage, or to the cameras, when he’s ready, it will all come back to him, but this isn’t that time.
For just now he’d as soon spend his days sitting on the seashore, watching the waves wash in and out again, knowing everything that makes up his world is still in place: Dom at work but certain to be home soon, their house, electric lights and running water and music and films. He’d rather putter about the house, doodle on his guitar, ring friends now and then, when he has the impulse.
The first time he went to the shops for supplies, Billy found himself standing in awe before the bread display, thinking, It’s all here, it’s all still here, we haven’t lost anything after all.
“It’s not a problem, Dom. Honestly, it’s not a problem. I love you.”
“I worry about you, Bills.”
Billy laughs.
“Honestly. I mean that. I’ve learnt my lesson, I’m well, I’ll behave myself—at least to the extent that I’m capable—“ A wee flash of grin then. “I’ll not do anything bloody thick that’s going to get me hurt again.”
“You’re not capable.” Billy means to laugh then, but can’t manage it somehow. He realizes that his hands are shaking, and curls them into fists so that Dom won’t see—though of course Dom does. It’s the sort of thing Dom will always notice.
“Billy?” Dom’s hand rubs over his knuckles, the warmth of his touch allowing Billy to go still again. “I mean what I say. If you aren’t ready yet for me to be away from you, I won’t do it. No one will hold that against either of us, Bills, you know they won’t. Everyone understands. There’s no question about breach of contract or anything else. Honestly, when JJ rang yesterday, it was all, ‘No need to worry, Dom. That’s the good thing about mysterious islands, isn’t it? Nothing strange about a little disappearance on a mysterious island.’”
“Convenient, that,” Billy says, trying to inject a bit of humour into his voice and pleased to find that he succeeds quite well.
“Yeah, convenient.” Dom’s eyes go distant for a moment, then focus sharply again. “Look, d’you mind fetching up my exoskeleton? It’s time to be shut back inside.”
There’s a length of white stockinet that slides over Dom’s arm first, protecting the still-tender scar from catching against the foam padding. That’s what makes the brace so bulky—that it’s so thoroughly padded, like something that might be used in some form of sport far more violent than American football. It seems wrong to encase Dom’s fragile arm in such a large, awkward thing.
“They’ll be careful, won’t they?” Billy asks, threading tapes through loops and doing each one up firmly. “Obviously, you won’t be able to have this, but there’ll be something, won’t there, to keep you from being hurt?”
“Billy.” Dom’s voice is lovingly exasperated. “No, they intend to have me climbing trees, and cliffs, and running through the jungle full tilt with nothing to protect me. What do you think?”
“That I worry.”
“You do worry.” Dom’s hand curls once more round the back of Billy’s head, bringing Billy’s face close to his own.. They regard one another, for a moment, from this extremely close perspective, and then Dom’s eyes slip shut. His mouth finds Billy’s with a minimum of fumbling, and Billy’s lips part automatically. He knows Dom’s tongue will slip inside, exploring him with quick little lightning touches, then with long, slow stokes—which it does, exactly as Billy’s expected, except that with Dom nothing’s exactly what he expected.
Despite his earlier reluctance, he wants this suddenly, this closeness, no separation between them. He feels as he felt when he was very young, inexperienced, slipping his hands in beneath Dom’s shirt, then down, caressing the small of his back, stroking the tight curves of his bum. Dom pushes up against him, then suddenly, somehow, they’ve both slipped to the floor, onto their knees, awkward because they're still connected, yet at the same time not awkward at all.
Dom’s sucking at Billy’s lower lip, and he’s somehow managed to get Billy’s flies unfastened again, but this time Dom’s cool hand, with its long, slender fingers has gone down inside, past the zip, and it’s far beyond Billy’s control to say anything, or even to want to say anything beyond, “Aye, that’s good, that’s good, Dommie. Just there.” He shifts as Dom’s fingers find all the sweet bits, the sensitive bits only Dom knows about, then Dom’s voice is in his ear again, “Up on the bed, Bills, up on the bed. Turn round and face me.”
Billy obeys, allowing his suddenly-undone trousers to drop round his ankles. Dom’s hand moves, getting under the elastic of his parts, lifting it over the erection Billy should have known he was getting all along, only he feels so oddly removed from his body now, so much of the time.
“Ssh, ssh,” Dom’s telling him, still in that low, velvety voice that always reminds Billy, oddly, of tigers purring. The pants slide down his legs, down to his ankles, and Billy kicks them aside, sinking, when they’re gone, down onto the edge of the bed. He hasn’t known he’s been making any sound of his own, but he supposes he must have been, if Dom’s hushing him. It’s all right for Dom, out of all the people in the world, to hush him.
Dom’s face is against his chest now, Dom’s warm breath on his skin, then Dom’s teasing at his nipples with teeth and tongue until Billy feels his own breath go strange. He’s still afraid, still has that voice inside his head shouting at him, Stop this, stop it! but then Dom’s mouth closes over the head of his cock, sucking gently. Dom’s tongue teases round the rim and Billy’s lost then, carried away on the hot, wet pressure inside Dom’s mouth. His own hands are weaving through Dom’s hair, urging his head closer, until he’s entirely enclosed within Dom’s mouth and throat, with Dom’s fingers stroking teasingly behind his balls. The hard edges of the splint press against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, but Billy’s far beyond caring.
A soft noise of protest escapes him when Dom’s mouth suddenly pulls away, at the same time he’s afraid something’s gone wrong again, that he really ought to have stopped before things ever reached this point.
“’s all right, ‘s all right,” Dom’s panting. “Just… I want…”
In some part of his brain even he doesn’t understand, Billy knows exactly what it is Dom wants, and he stretches along the bed, reaching into the drawer of the bedside table for the bottle of lubricant that’s kept there, amidst the rat’s nest of random objects Dom’s dropped inside. He slides onto his knees again, facing Dom, spilling a generous dollop of lube into his cupped palm, working it gently onto Dom’s half-erect cock, feeling the organ thicken and go hard under his touch. There’s a look of deep concentration on Dom’s face and with it the slightly-trollied expression he gets when he’s deep into bliss.
Billy’s never been able to see Lost without thinking, when Charlie takes his drugs, There’s my Dommie. There’s my Dommie’s face when he comes for me. He’ll laugh then, and Dom will punch his arm, not particularly hard, though Billy will say “ouch!” and rub the spot until Dom leans over to kiss him there. Dom ends up with his head in Billy’s lap most times, his hand curled round Billy’s arm, gazing up into his face from underneath as Billy strokes his hair and watches the television screen.
Dom’s in the first stages of that expression now, his eyes shut and chin lifted a little. He’s breathing, “Ah, Bills, yeah, that’s it, Bills, love you, Billy.”
“Against the side here?” Billy asks, knowing there’s no way Dom could hold himself up above him on the bed, whatever position they use.
“Er…” Dom’s blushing a bit, slipping back into himself. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good,” he murmurs, as Billy shifts into position, facing the bed with his back to Dom, on his knees on the rug, arms braced against the mattress. Dom’s hand returns to Billy’s cock, cupping him, squeezing gently as he kisses the back of Billy’s neck, the curve of Billy’s shoulder, nuzzling into his hair. “God, so good, Bills.” He’s parting Billy’s legs then, his hardness slipping into the cleft between. “You’re so good, Billy.”
Billy squeezes his buttocks together a bit, just to tease him, eliciting from Dom a noise that’s half laugh and half gasp. “Lube?” he says, his hand appearing at a spot level with Billy’s navel.
“As you wish,” Billy answers, but when he squeezes the bottle half the slippery gel misses Dom’s palm entirely, landing in a viscous glob on the once-clean sheets.
Dom only laughs. “Bit of a misfire there, Bills.”
“I’ll change…”
“No. Stay. Stay.” Dom’s hand is at his entrance now, rubbing the tightness with slippery fingers until the muscles loosen, teasing his thumb inside just gently, though the painful/pleasurable pressure and his own need make Billy half-dizzy. Before he knows it, the thumb’s gone and a finger takes its place inside him, rubbing away the tension, pressing against that perfect spot that makes his brain completely shut off, though a wave of absolute rightness, absolute love and trust and undiluted pleasure shoots through him.
“Ah, Dom. M’Dommie.” There’s a second finger inside him now, no more trouble than the first, except that by this time his pulse pounds in his ears, as well as setting a slow, steady, pleasurable throb through his thighs, through his belly and into his cock itself.
“Just here, Billy,” Dom’s breathing raggedly against Billy’s shoulder now, licking and nipping the skin down the back of Billy’s neck, bending him at a slightly easier angle over the bed, even as he presses slowly, slowly inside, his slightly greater height allowing him to move easily—more easily, at any rate, than Billy would do, were their positions reversed. For a moment it hurts, it just hurts as it always does, but once Dom’s gone all the way in the discomfort stops abruptly—again, just as it always does.
Billy pushes back against him, matching Dom’s rhythm, shivering a little at the warm uneven breaths against the back of his head, the soft, whispered obscenities in his ear. Dom’s arm is hooked around Billy’s hip, both for balance and to keep him close, his hand still working at Billy’s own erection. Billy slips his own hand in front of them, gliding down Dom’s arm and onto the hand itself, holding it still so that he’s pushing against their linked fingers as Dom pushes into him. His weight’s heavy across Billy’s shoulders, heavier than it should be, his sweat hot and slick against Billy’s back.
Billy turns his head much as he can, trying to see the flushed face so close to his own, Dom’s eyes glazed with pleasure and weariness. “Slowly, Dommie,” he murmurs. “Slowly, love. Not a race, you know.”
“Just... Last…”
“You’ll last, céile, you’ll last.” Billy takes over the rhythm, slowing it, pushing back hard into every thrust Dom makes, until the pleasurable throb goes all through him and Dom’s uttering sharp, choked little cries into Billy’s hair, until Billy’s gone so hard under Dom’s and his own hands that he doesn’t believe he can hold off one instant longer without Dom bringing him to his climax.
Dom’s holding him then, stroking Billy in, long, slightly-erratic passes, his hand slick with sweat and with the moisture Billy’s leaked onto him. He picks up the pace again to match the movement of his hand, until Billy’s gasping, his cock like something molten beneath Dom’s touch, Dom as deep into him as he’ll go, pulling back a bit then pushing in again, the thickness of him gliding over Billy’s prostate, shifting his hips just the slightest bit, to a slightly different angle, the angle that hits him perfectly, so that he cries out, “Oh, God, oh my God. Jaysus feck, Dommie.”
Dom pushes into him one last time, that same deep penetration, holding Billy tight against him, his breath stuttering out, then stopping altogether. There’s the push and the quiver, the shudder of Dom’s muscles against his own. Then another shudder, as Dom cries out softly and then the warm rush goes through him, filling him, and there’s a low sound from Dom’s throat that might be Billy’s own name.
Billy braces himself harder, taking both their weights, Dom’s hand moving in sharp little jerks over his cock until Billy’s calling Dom’s name too, using his own hand to set up a rhythm again, all his awareness pulling into nothing but a pinprick of knife-edged, absolute pleasure. He’s spilling over Dom’s hand, spilling and spilling until, in the moment before he’s flying out into another part of space and all his muscles have somehow transmuted to the consistency of overcooked pasta.
Dom’s head rests heavily on Billy’s shoulder, though his hand’s still stroking down Billy’s abdomen in feather-light touches. “Was okay, Bills?” he murmurs, with a certain sleepy satisfaction.
“You were brilliant, love,” Billy answers, slipping carefully away until he’s facing Dom again, until Dom’s resting against him. They’re sticky and messy, and Billy’s not entirely certain his legs will support him should he try to rise, much less support him whilst allowing him to raise Dom to his feet as well.
“Should clean up,” Dom says. “You’re always miserable like this, damned particular bastard.”
Billy can’t help but laugh again. “Aye, that we should.”
“Rather hold you—manky as you are.” Dom has a way of snuggling into him, just fitting their two bodies together, that’s like no one Billy’s ever known, or expected to know. There’s warmth there, and completeness. “Yeah—rather hold you.” He’s quiet then, for a time, tracing the lines of Billy’s thigh and bum and back with his fingertips. Normally, Billy’s ticklish, but there’s a way Dom’s learned to touch him that’s not like that at all—it’s as if Dom’s hands (or hand, in this case) have become a part of his own flesh.
Flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood, Billy remembers his gran saying, or something of the sort--he's not certain he recalls the words exactly--even if she wouldn’t have approved of the way he’s using the phrase, in this context.
Billy rises, finding after a second or two have passed that he can stand after all, and can help Dom to his feet as well, even though Dom clings to him for quite a bit more time, trying to get his bearings again. “Just don’t…” Billy begins, then thinks better of it.
Dom’s giving his questioning look, though, both brows raised.
“It’s just, don’t let them ask you to do more than you’re able. Don’t pretend to be all right when you’re not.” The words come out in a rush, and Billy’s sorry at once that he’s said them, and the same moment he’s not sorry in the least.
Dom sinks down on the edge of the bed, still looking up at him, his eyes unreadable, storm-cloud grey, yet otherwise scarcely seeming stormy at all. He cradles the heavy brace in his lap, tapping on the fiberglass idly with his fingertips. “You mean, as I’ve done to you this whole time?” He crosses one leg over the other, bare foot swinging. There’s an imprint like the pattern of a waffle on his knee, red from kneeling on the sisal rug.
Billy doesn’t answer, doesn’t smile, either—though they understand one another perfectly.
“It’s only…” Dom says after a time. “It’s only I wanted you so much, and you know how I am, with the delayed gratification and that sort of thing. I just… I didn’t…” He glances up again, and this time his eyes meet Billy’s fully, somberly. It’s not a look Billy remembers seeing on Dom’s face in the past, not when he’s his real self, only when he’s acting. “Bills, I wanted you so much, and I’d keeping thinking, ‘This time, it will be all right. This time I’m strong enough,’ even when I knew in my heart I wasn’t. I wanted to be, was bloody tearing myself apart to be, because I wanted to be myself again, and I wanted you.”
Don’t be like that, Dommie, Billy wants to say, Don’t hurt yourself with loving me, but then he thinks what it was like, all those long, slow days through which he didn’t know if Dom would live or Dom would die, only that he himself would have given up anything, made any sacrifice, to see him come out the other side, just like this, with his changeable eyes and lightning-flashes of expression, his smiles and laughter, his outrageous jokes and odd culinary experiments.
“Living with you,” Billy says, “Will always be an adventure.”
Dom appears to consider for a moment, then gives one of those flashing smiles, his eyes sparkling, crinkled at their corners in the lovely way he has that’s his alone, because no one else in the whole of the world smiles like Dom. He laughs, one of those low, wicked, delighted laughs that seem to promise their owner’s up to no good, but that the ensuing mischief should be enjoyable in the extreme.
“We ought to have a bath,” Dom says.
“We ought to.” Billy gives one of his own smiles, watching Dom’s face light up even more. “Stinky Stinkerson.”
“I’m not alone in that, Stinky MacStinkerson.” Dom’s laugh turns delighted. “I’ve bubbles, by the way.”
“Have you?”
“Passionfruit, they’re meant to be. I’ll need your considered opinion as to whether that’s actually the case.”
“Just so that you know—if they’re pink, I’m having none of it.”
“Golden,” Dom answers, wrapping his arm round Billy’s neck, reeling him in for another of those firm, tender, open-mouthed kisses, until Billy’s slightly breathless.
“Yes,” Dom says at last, when they’ve parted, when Billy’s hand is firmly wrapped around his own yet they don’t dare look at one another for fear that fits of laughing must follow, inevitably. “Absolutely pure bloody gold.”
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It eats socks. I know it.
Real comment after reading.
Pip
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Pip
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You write happiness with the same lovely detail and voice that you write angst. I love them both.
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Off to bed now!
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I love this story!
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Thanks.
*Elly*
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Stinky Stinkerson and Stinky MacStinkerson. I can see those two now in their tub of golden bubbles.
Love ya Sema
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And, thanks for the hot boisecks, too. I may actually be able to have those dreams we were discussin. hehe
Thanks for many things, but right now, most importantly, for sharing this with us. Perhaps more coherent fb later when I'm, you know, sober or something. ;-)
♥
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The 'gratification sex' was... just. Filling. ;) You can almost feel all the emotion burst into one. Hehehe.
Reading 'Stinky Stinkerson' in a story always makes me giggle, having Dom saying it in my head with no trouble at all. :D
*loves you*
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Well now, I'll never be able to see Charlie on drugs the same way again! ;)
Nice to see you back, and thanks for this lovely chapter.
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And the sex was, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
:-)
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Home
And hugely appreciated.
You do happy as beautifully as you do angst.
And thank you for all of this.
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I love this chapter. Thank you so much for giving them back some health and hope, and for letting Billy doubt his luck for quite a bit there! Nice, realistic touch, that.
The love scene is beautiful and poignant, and it is wonderful that they can start to decipher some past problems and begin to trust more in the future.
Thank you for this episode, and I hope you are feeling better, yourself!
Catherine
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*several minutes later*
I also am a happy puddle. I liked especially your sense of Billy returning to daily life. It's kinda like that, I think.
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From:
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♥ ♥
Dom begins to sing, happily off-key, splashing water all over the floor. Billy never can bear to watch him wash floors, but they always turn out sparkling somehow—nicer than his own, Billy has to admit, though he’s not certain at which point in the process that occurs.
And I can relate to this sowell.
From:
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Thank you I love this story so much, and the way you write how much the love each other is breath taking.
Well say hi to your Sister today for me and have fun. :)
From:
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From:
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Now I wonder what Elijah and Orli could be getting up to. Hmmmm...
::hugs::
From:
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Beautiful and loverly, dear heart. ♥