Tell me on a Sunday

[light-the-sky76.livejournal.com]

Title: Tell me on a Sunday
Author: light_the_sky76
Pairing: Mona and Boyd
Rating: G
Summary: Kinda short, kinda sad
Feedback: Please, I will snuggle for it, and do other things that I wouldn't tell my mother about
Disclaimer: I made this up. Please Mr Lloyd-Webber and Mr Black, don't sue me for using your song - I have no money it wouldn't be worth your while
Authors note: I've written a song fic. I am actually quite ashamed about it :) I got a songs from the shows CD for Christmas with a sweet, sad little song on called Tell Me On A Sunday. It occured to me that the sweet sad little song might make a sweet sad little fic. And then the thought wouldn't go away. Anyone who is interested can find the lyrics here.
Beta: indigo_blind - cheers me dear





Billy knows that one day Dom will end it.

One day, Dom will look at Billy and he’ll see. He’ll look at Billy and know what Billy knows. That Dom’s adventurous spirit will, one day, need more than Billy.

Billy’s heart doesn’t beat in the same rhythm as the quick joyful hum of Dom’s, his heart beat is just as strong, but moves differently – like the ebb and flow of the turning of the tide compared to the dancing current of a stream.

Billy nurses his drink and watches the party move around him. Music (the best and most cutting edge, carefully selected by Elijah) mingles with chattering voices and laughter. Viggo is by the fireplace having what looks like an intense conversation with Sean, Sean is gesturing emphatically while Viggo nods sagely. Orlando, Elijah and Dom are stood by the French doors, Dom’s holding court, weaving some story to his friends’ rapt attention. Laughter erupts and the three hold on to one another for support as they roar in amusement.

Billy could join any of the groups scattered throughout the room. He’d be welcomed and embraced into the conversation without a beat being missed. But for now, he’d rather stand apart and watch, feeling the pleasure of the company of old friends washing over him in time with the music.

He watches his friends, he watches their smiles, but most of all he watches Dom.

Billy knows how he wants Dom to tell him it’s over. He’s thought about it on nights when he’s laid awake with Dom warm and dreaming next to him, and he’s thought about it first thing in the morning when Dom’s making him breakfast, and on slow evenings when Dom’s pottered happily around the house humming to himself.

He’d like Dom to take him somewhere green and quiet, like a park full of trees, then look him in the eyes and say that he thinks they would be better off apart.

Billy doesn’t want a letter; he doesn’t want long deep conversations or tears. Doesn’t want for them to fight, or for Dom to come home drunk one night and guiltily blurt out his goodbye.

No dramatic scenes - no rain swept pavements or phone calls with the echo and boom of an airport in the background.

Trees and a Sunday afternoon in a park. If he can hear the swish and rustle of leaves and smell earth and the scent of growing things when Dom breaks his heart he’ll be okay, if he has those things he won’t shatter.

He’s never told Dom this. If he did he knows Dom’s eyes would go wide horror and concern “No Bill! No no no no no!” he’d chant and pull Billy to him “That will never happen, never never” he’d promise nuzzling into Billy, rubbing his cheek against Billy’s chest and kissing his neck with quick desperation “Not now, not ever, I love you Billy, I love you.”

Billy would want to believe him, he’d hold Dom to him as he kissed and promised forevers and evers, but Billy would know. He’d know that even though Dom truly means each declaration that one day it will be over, the wildness in Dom will call him away.

Billy leaves his quiet corner, nods to Viggo and Sean as he passes and joins Dom, Elijah and Orli.

“Bills!” Dom’s hand curls round Billy’s waist and pulls them tightly together, “I was beginning to worry, I thought you’d wandered off and couldn’t find your way back.”

“No,” Billy leans into Dom enjoying the ease with which their bodies fit together. Like a jigsaw, Dom says, like it’s supposed to be. “I’m still here.”

Dom grins at him, one of his best jubilant smiles, and launches into a friendly argument with Elijah about the merits of the band which is playing.

For now everything is perfect, and it probably still will be tomorrow, and next week, and maybe even next year. But Billy knows it can’t be forever and all he asks is when the time comes that he’s taken to a park thick with trees and that when Dom tells him it’s a Sunday.