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Title: Sugar-coated
Disclaimer: Lies, damn lies. (But no statistics, so that's good, eh?)
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: R
Summary: If he kissed him now, Billy would taste like...
Warnings: I do not know if the English eat French toast. Or if they call it that. Oh well.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
punkmeanscuddle, a damn fine writer and a damn generous person! (The Phone Sex Muse was on another line, so this came instead. Hope it's okay.)
ETA: Okay, cinnamon-hating!Billy is now intact (thanks to those who let me know, now I know what not to make him for breakfast when I finally seduce him), and thanks also tomatildabj for her enormously helpful Brit-picking. For the Americans now reading, apparently eggy toast=French toast. :-)
Sugar-coated
"M'hungry."
"So get something to eat."
"Your kitchen has absolutely nothing in it."
"Does so."
"Does not." Dom closes his eyes. "Besides, then I'd have to. You know. Walk."
"Just how pissed are you?" Billy is regarding him from his armchair, sprawled out, one hand loosely clasping his tumbler, which now has only the barest skim of amber liquid in it.
Dom shrugs. "Dunno. But if I walk, I'll find out, won't I?"
"Mmmm." Billy closes his eyes, and Dom feels a tug of affectionate lust. Nothing new, that. If he kissed him now, Billy would taste like whiskey. This is a topic that occupies Dom's mind more often, perhaps, than it should. If I kissed him now, Billy would taste like
toothpaste (this morning, while they were Footed and Wigged and Make-upped)
porridge and tea (in the mess tent)
curry and rice (mess tent again)
quiche (mess tent)
salt (at the beach)
one of Elijah's clove cigarettes (at a bar)
beer (at a bar)
whiskey (at a bar)
That was today.
"Billeeeee..."
"Just get up and go look." Billy's eyes are still closed, and Dom sighs, not unhappily. One of these days he will find out what Billy tastes like. He hopes. It is a question that has lost much of its urgency over the past months, though it still feels urgent sometimes. But Dom has decided that it will happen when it happens, and he will wait and see. You wouldn't think it, but Dom is good at waiting. He can wait for a long time if he has to.
"But I want you to go look," he says.
"Fuck off." Billy's mouth curves up just a tiny bit at one corner. He keeps his eyes firmly shut.
Dom pouts as loudly as he can without saying anything, directing his gaze (big, sad, blue) at Billy's form.
It works after a while. "Christ." Billy opens his eyes, glares at Dom across the dim room. "Now you've got me hungry."
Dom smiles cheerfully. "So be a love and get us something to eat."
Eyeroll, and Billy drinks that last swallow of whiskey without a grimace (a feat the younger man can never manage) before he stands and heads to the kitchen. He swats Dom's head as he passes him, and Dom waves his hands irritably in the air, shooing him off even though Billy never broke his stride. The kitchen flips on, sending a beam of cheery yellow into the living room.
"Hmmm." The sound of doors opening, and Dominic can picture him, standing before the cabinets and surveying his domain. He will have his head tilted slightly, face relaxed and open, hands on his hips. Such a lovely little bite of a man. Billy is compact and tidily made, and Dom can summon up his form at any time, doing any thing.
Almost any thing.
"So what are we eating?"
"Well, apparently my kitchen has absolutely nothing in it."
"What do you have?" Dom leans his head against the back of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. "Why don't you have any artwork on your ceiling?"
"Should I have?"
"Yes."
"We'll invite Viggo over. I have bread, and rice, and oats--ooo, I could quite fancy some porridge."
"No porridge," Dom says firmly. "What else?"
"Hmmm." Other cabinets opening. "Sugar, garlic powder, vanilla, salt, pepper, curry powder. Flour. A can of baked beans. Cinnamon, for some reason."
"What's in the fridge?" Dom surveys the backs of his hands. He has had to stop writing on them with permanent marker--it drives the makeup ladies insane. He feels the urge to write on them now, though, wishes he had a ballpoint pen. T-A-S-T-E, he would write.
"Nothing," Billy reports, just after Dom hears the squelchy sound of the refrigerator opening. "Two eggs, beer. Half-stick of butter. Some cheese, which is quite old." Snick. The refrigerator door closing.
"Hold on." Dominic levers himself to his feet. Not quite as bad as he'd feared. Three parts drunk, perhaps. Not really even hangover levels, not if he remembers to drink water and swallow his aspirin tablets before he goes to bed.
"Billy?" He meanders into the kitchen.
"What? Dammit, now I'm hungry, and I have no food, and it's too late to order take-out." He glowers at Dom.
"Make me drink water and take some aspirins before I fall asleep, will you?"
"Yes, of course." Billy rubs one hand through his thinning hair. "But what are we going to eat?"
"Eggy bread."
"I don't know how to make eggy bread."
"Ah!" Dom walks forward, puts his arm companionably about Billy's shoulders. "But I do."
Eggs in the bowl. A teaspoon of vanilla, a few spoonfuls of flour. A wee bit of whiskey--"What the fuck?" says Billy at this heresy, and Dom says "Would you rather water?" and Billy shuts up--and beat it all up with a fork. "You don't have a wire whisk?" Dom is incredulous, and Billy shoots him such a laser-beam glare that he laughs aloud. A hot pan on the range, a pat of butter. Cut the bread, drag it through the batter and saute.
"Get down the sugar and cinnamon," Dom instructs his mate, and Billy obeys, grumbling because Dom has been ordering him about. "Mix them up, we'll sprinkle it on top. Elijah taught me that."
"No cinnamon."
Dom rolls his eyes. "Right, forgot. Straight sugar then." The buzz of the beer is diminishing, but Dom still feels pleasantly tipsy when he and Billy sit at the high stools along the kitchen counter to eat. Both of them have glasses of water, and before he eats Dom swallows two little tablets.
Dom uses a spoon to sprinkle a light dash of sugar onto the hot bread, then watches in amazement as Billy completely coats his own. "How can you do that?" he asks as Billy takes his first bite. They are picking the soft toast up with their fingers ("Do you want to wash the cutlery?" Billy asked), and Dom's next remark is forgotten as he watches Billy chew and swallow, grin at him.
It is a sugar-coated grin, the little crystals glittering on Billy's lips and teeth, and Dominic could no more stop himself than he could stop a speeding train--he leans forward and captures the back of Billy's head with one hand and tilts his own head to one side and licks Billy's mouth, he licks it, tongue sliding from one side to the other, grittysweetwet. Billy opens his mouth in surprise and Dom leans further, stumbles to his feet and now both hands are on Billy, one still pressed to the back of his head (soft fine hair, delicate fragile skull), the other wrapped in his shirt (cotton linen something, Dom's knuckles brush against Billy's chest) and his tongue slips into that open, questioning mouth, pursuing, chasing, searching.
If I kissed him now, Billy would taste of whiskey and sugar.
Billy is making a sound, that’s okay, Dom is making a sound, too, a low moan that clatters against Billy's teeth. But wait, no, okay, Billy is trying to talk. So Dom pulls back, though his hands never leave Billy. "What?" he asks.
"What the hell is this?" Billy's eyes are wide and green in the fluorescent light, and they look a little glazed too, to be honest. There is still some sugar on him, at the corner of his mouth, and Dominic has to exercise quite a bit of self-restraint not to dart his tongue right out and just. Take care of it.
"Ah, I dunno." Dominic's eyes flicker back and forth between the grains of sugar and Billy's shocked eyes. "Just wanted--you know. To, ah, to taste you." Fuck. How drunk was he supposed to be? Hmm. Well, not quite drunk enough for that, really, considering that he was recently handling a hot pan and such with reasonable competence.
"But where--" Billy takes a deep breath. "Where did it come from? Christ, Dom, you surprised me."
Surprised. Not shocked, not horrified... surprised? Dom tilts his head again, leans forward just a tiny bit--he never went far anyway. His next words are meant to ghost across Billy's lips: "I've been wanting to do that for a long time, mate." Judging by Billy's eyes, which grow very slightly wider and darker, the effort is successful.
"How--" Billy clears his throat. "How did I taste?" He presses his lips together, purses them slightly.
Dominic bends his head and licks those last niggling crystals away, then speaks against Billy's skin. "Excellent. Very sweet."
Billy turns his head and his lips slide under Dom's. "You should taste the rest of me," he suggests, and he opens his mouth as his hands come up, pulling Dominic to him for another kiss.
"Yes, I should."
~*~*~*~
Later Dom lies back on Billy's bed, naked and sticky and completely boneless. His breathing steadies and his heartrate goes back to something more like normal as Billy crawls up to collapse half-on, half-beside him. "Love you, Bills," he says.
"You say that to all the guys you find yourself naked with," Billy says.
"Mmmm. Just the ones I've licked sugar off of."
Billy shifts and pushes his sharp nose into Dom's neck. "Which narrows it down to...?"
"Just you, mate." Dominic runs his hand down Billy's narrow back, letting it rest on his hip.
"Well. It's mutual." Billy's green eyes sparkle when he lifts his head and looks at Dom.
"Just me?"
"Just you."
"And...?" Dom rolls over, braces himself over Billy and tries not to shiver at the sight of him, flushed, tousled, sated, looking up with his mouth curled into a smile and his body all smooth planes and warm, damp angles beneath Dom's own.
"And the feeling is mutual. I love you, too. You great git. Dominic."
If I kissed him now, Billy would taste of me.
Dominic puts his thought to the test, and is delighted to find it is true.
Disclaimer: Lies, damn lies. (But no statistics, so that's good, eh?)
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: R
Summary: If he kissed him now, Billy would taste like...
Warnings: I do not know if the English eat French toast. Or if they call it that. Oh well.
A/N: For
punkmeanscuddle, a damn fine writer and a damn generous person! (The Phone Sex Muse was on another line, so this came instead. Hope it's okay.)ETA: Okay, cinnamon-hating!Billy is now intact (thanks to those who let me know, now I know what not to make him for breakfast when I finally seduce him), and thanks also to
matildabj for her enormously helpful Brit-picking. For the Americans now reading, apparently eggy toast=French toast. :-)Sugar-coated
"M'hungry."
"So get something to eat."
"Your kitchen has absolutely nothing in it."
"Does so."
"Does not." Dom closes his eyes. "Besides, then I'd have to. You know. Walk."
"Just how pissed are you?" Billy is regarding him from his armchair, sprawled out, one hand loosely clasping his tumbler, which now has only the barest skim of amber liquid in it.
Dom shrugs. "Dunno. But if I walk, I'll find out, won't I?"
"Mmmm." Billy closes his eyes, and Dom feels a tug of affectionate lust. Nothing new, that. If he kissed him now, Billy would taste like whiskey. This is a topic that occupies Dom's mind more often, perhaps, than it should. If I kissed him now, Billy would taste like
toothpaste (this morning, while they were Footed and Wigged and Make-upped)
porridge and tea (in the mess tent)
curry and rice (mess tent again)
quiche (mess tent)
salt (at the beach)
one of Elijah's clove cigarettes (at a bar)
beer (at a bar)
whiskey (at a bar)
That was today.
"Billeeeee..."
"Just get up and go look." Billy's eyes are still closed, and Dom sighs, not unhappily. One of these days he will find out what Billy tastes like. He hopes. It is a question that has lost much of its urgency over the past months, though it still feels urgent sometimes. But Dom has decided that it will happen when it happens, and he will wait and see. You wouldn't think it, but Dom is good at waiting. He can wait for a long time if he has to.
"But I want you to go look," he says.
"Fuck off." Billy's mouth curves up just a tiny bit at one corner. He keeps his eyes firmly shut.
Dom pouts as loudly as he can without saying anything, directing his gaze (big, sad, blue) at Billy's form.
It works after a while. "Christ." Billy opens his eyes, glares at Dom across the dim room. "Now you've got me hungry."
Dom smiles cheerfully. "So be a love and get us something to eat."
Eyeroll, and Billy drinks that last swallow of whiskey without a grimace (a feat the younger man can never manage) before he stands and heads to the kitchen. He swats Dom's head as he passes him, and Dom waves his hands irritably in the air, shooing him off even though Billy never broke his stride. The kitchen flips on, sending a beam of cheery yellow into the living room.
"Hmmm." The sound of doors opening, and Dominic can picture him, standing before the cabinets and surveying his domain. He will have his head tilted slightly, face relaxed and open, hands on his hips. Such a lovely little bite of a man. Billy is compact and tidily made, and Dom can summon up his form at any time, doing any thing.
Almost any thing.
"So what are we eating?"
"Well, apparently my kitchen has absolutely nothing in it."
"What do you have?" Dom leans his head against the back of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. "Why don't you have any artwork on your ceiling?"
"Should I have?"
"Yes."
"We'll invite Viggo over. I have bread, and rice, and oats--ooo, I could quite fancy some porridge."
"No porridge," Dom says firmly. "What else?"
"Hmmm." Other cabinets opening. "Sugar, garlic powder, vanilla, salt, pepper, curry powder. Flour. A can of baked beans. Cinnamon, for some reason."
"What's in the fridge?" Dom surveys the backs of his hands. He has had to stop writing on them with permanent marker--it drives the makeup ladies insane. He feels the urge to write on them now, though, wishes he had a ballpoint pen. T-A-S-T-E, he would write.
"Nothing," Billy reports, just after Dom hears the squelchy sound of the refrigerator opening. "Two eggs, beer. Half-stick of butter. Some cheese, which is quite old." Snick. The refrigerator door closing.
"Hold on." Dominic levers himself to his feet. Not quite as bad as he'd feared. Three parts drunk, perhaps. Not really even hangover levels, not if he remembers to drink water and swallow his aspirin tablets before he goes to bed.
"Billy?" He meanders into the kitchen.
"What? Dammit, now I'm hungry, and I have no food, and it's too late to order take-out." He glowers at Dom.
"Make me drink water and take some aspirins before I fall asleep, will you?"
"Yes, of course." Billy rubs one hand through his thinning hair. "But what are we going to eat?"
"Eggy bread."
"I don't know how to make eggy bread."
"Ah!" Dom walks forward, puts his arm companionably about Billy's shoulders. "But I do."
Eggs in the bowl. A teaspoon of vanilla, a few spoonfuls of flour. A wee bit of whiskey--"What the fuck?" says Billy at this heresy, and Dom says "Would you rather water?" and Billy shuts up--and beat it all up with a fork. "You don't have a wire whisk?" Dom is incredulous, and Billy shoots him such a laser-beam glare that he laughs aloud. A hot pan on the range, a pat of butter. Cut the bread, drag it through the batter and saute.
"Get down the sugar and cinnamon," Dom instructs his mate, and Billy obeys, grumbling because Dom has been ordering him about. "Mix them up, we'll sprinkle it on top. Elijah taught me that."
"No cinnamon."
Dom rolls his eyes. "Right, forgot. Straight sugar then." The buzz of the beer is diminishing, but Dom still feels pleasantly tipsy when he and Billy sit at the high stools along the kitchen counter to eat. Both of them have glasses of water, and before he eats Dom swallows two little tablets.
Dom uses a spoon to sprinkle a light dash of sugar onto the hot bread, then watches in amazement as Billy completely coats his own. "How can you do that?" he asks as Billy takes his first bite. They are picking the soft toast up with their fingers ("Do you want to wash the cutlery?" Billy asked), and Dom's next remark is forgotten as he watches Billy chew and swallow, grin at him.
It is a sugar-coated grin, the little crystals glittering on Billy's lips and teeth, and Dominic could no more stop himself than he could stop a speeding train--he leans forward and captures the back of Billy's head with one hand and tilts his own head to one side and licks Billy's mouth, he licks it, tongue sliding from one side to the other, grittysweetwet. Billy opens his mouth in surprise and Dom leans further, stumbles to his feet and now both hands are on Billy, one still pressed to the back of his head (soft fine hair, delicate fragile skull), the other wrapped in his shirt (cotton linen something, Dom's knuckles brush against Billy's chest) and his tongue slips into that open, questioning mouth, pursuing, chasing, searching.
If I kissed him now, Billy would taste of whiskey and sugar.
Billy is making a sound, that’s okay, Dom is making a sound, too, a low moan that clatters against Billy's teeth. But wait, no, okay, Billy is trying to talk. So Dom pulls back, though his hands never leave Billy. "What?" he asks.
"What the hell is this?" Billy's eyes are wide and green in the fluorescent light, and they look a little glazed too, to be honest. There is still some sugar on him, at the corner of his mouth, and Dominic has to exercise quite a bit of self-restraint not to dart his tongue right out and just. Take care of it.
"Ah, I dunno." Dominic's eyes flicker back and forth between the grains of sugar and Billy's shocked eyes. "Just wanted--you know. To, ah, to taste you." Fuck. How drunk was he supposed to be? Hmm. Well, not quite drunk enough for that, really, considering that he was recently handling a hot pan and such with reasonable competence.
"But where--" Billy takes a deep breath. "Where did it come from? Christ, Dom, you surprised me."
Surprised. Not shocked, not horrified... surprised? Dom tilts his head again, leans forward just a tiny bit--he never went far anyway. His next words are meant to ghost across Billy's lips: "I've been wanting to do that for a long time, mate." Judging by Billy's eyes, which grow very slightly wider and darker, the effort is successful.
"How--" Billy clears his throat. "How did I taste?" He presses his lips together, purses them slightly.
Dominic bends his head and licks those last niggling crystals away, then speaks against Billy's skin. "Excellent. Very sweet."
Billy turns his head and his lips slide under Dom's. "You should taste the rest of me," he suggests, and he opens his mouth as his hands come up, pulling Dominic to him for another kiss.
"Yes, I should."
~*~*~*~
Later Dom lies back on Billy's bed, naked and sticky and completely boneless. His breathing steadies and his heartrate goes back to something more like normal as Billy crawls up to collapse half-on, half-beside him. "Love you, Bills," he says.
"You say that to all the guys you find yourself naked with," Billy says.
"Mmmm. Just the ones I've licked sugar off of."
Billy shifts and pushes his sharp nose into Dom's neck. "Which narrows it down to...?"
"Just you, mate." Dominic runs his hand down Billy's narrow back, letting it rest on his hip.
"Well. It's mutual." Billy's green eyes sparkle when he lifts his head and looks at Dom.
"Just me?"
"Just you."
"And...?" Dom rolls over, braces himself over Billy and tries not to shiver at the sight of him, flushed, tousled, sated, looking up with his mouth curled into a smile and his body all smooth planes and warm, damp angles beneath Dom's own.
"And the feeling is mutual. I love you, too. You great git. Dominic."
If I kissed him now, Billy would taste of me.
Dominic puts his thought to the test, and is delighted to find it is true.
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From: (Anonymous)
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Luv, Peace and Imaginary Peanut Butter,
~Marciana
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Will Dom feed me the imaginary peanut butter?From:
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One little nitpicky thing because I am a h0r for the details--Billy actually hates cinnamon. He's said it's made him physically ill on occasion. Poor boy, he can't enjoy the wonders of cinnamon sugar. :D
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tee hee. excellent. 'cept for the cinnamon. :P
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Might I comment, I think you left out a word on accident.
The kitchen flips on, sending a beam of cheery yellow into the living room.
Should the word light be right before kitchen?
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*is speechless*
Can I lick sugar!Billy?From:
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Yes, I already did and it was yummy.From:
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Now write one with sugar!Dom, please!!!!From:
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*contemplates raiding larder but realises sadly that it wouldn't be as much fun as Billy's*
(As some of your other readers were in nit-picking mode I hope you don't mind me pointing out a 'stick' of butter is probably an American term, as we don't buy butter in 'sticks' in the UK - we'd be more likely to call it a pack of butter or something like that. /nit-picking)
Having said that - I love this fic, as I've loved all your other ones.
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And thank you! Glad you liked it. :-)
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