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monaboyd_monthpart two: if I play the same three chords
two: billy
It's a Wednesday, nearing the end of their separate filming, and dialing Dom's number is so automatic that Billy doesn't even remember doing it.
"I can't believe you sicced me on Elijah," he says as soon as Dom picks up.
"I what?"
"Well, unless he was making it up for some reason. He just called to say he'd sworn to you that he wouldn't start anything with Sean until he'd given me one chance to talk him out of it."
"Oh," says Dom, and then again with a different inflection, "oh. What happened?'
"I talked him out of it. That is what you wanted, right?"
"Yeah, it was." There's a faint rustling sound on the other end of the line which could be something as innocent as Dom settling into bed, but it isn't. Billy knows that Dom sometimes wanks while they're on the phone. He also knows that Dom isn't sleeping with anyone else and isn't going to, and even though it's more about Dom's feelings than Billy's, even though he certainly hasn't asked for it, it's still because of him. Rambling about his day when Dom stops being able to hold up his end of the conversation seems like the least he can do.
"So how did you do it?" Dom asks. Billy forces his mind away from where it wants to picture what's happening at the other end of the line and makes himself think about Elijah.
"It wasn't that hard. If he didn't already know it was a terrible idea he wouldn't have called me in the first place, promise or no. I talked about the girls a lot, and Chris. It makes no sense to cause so much pain to so many people just because you were lovers in some other life. That's just a fact, it's not a relationship with any kind of history or growth or, oh, marriage vows. How could the fact that one time things were different take precedence over the bond that Sean and Christine have, the real one in this life? He doesn't even know the details of what happened last time. Maybe it was a disaster. If you're just going to try your hardest to recreate one life over and over again what's the point of having more than one? What's the point of having free will, for that matter?"
"Very persuasive," says Dom. There's an edge to his voice, no way to know if it's arousal or a reaction to Billy's words.
"Lij thought so, at least."
"That's all that matters."
A pause. Billy listens to Dom's breathing, wishing he hadn't brought it up in the first place.
"So what have you been up to, other than preventing catastrophe among our fellow castmembers?" asks Dom after a moment.
"Nothing very exciting. Pippin and Faramir today, which mean hours of shooting on my knees."
"Poor David."
"Poor David? Because he got to stand around and watch me give myself bruises all day?"
"Because he had to watch you on your knees all day staring up at him and still act professional."
It hits Billy like a punch to the gut, steals his breath, the sheer physical shock of it. There's no question what Dom's imagining and he's caught between the fantasy itself and the knowledge that Dom is thinking about it, right now, thinking about Billy's mouth on him and getting off on the phone where Billy can hear every movement. He slams his free hand down on the bed to stop it going anywhere else.
"I'm sorry," Dom says, making Billy realize that he's been silent for too long. "Sorry. Billy. I shouldn't have..." It's sincere enough but he sounds absolutely wrecked, gravelly, panting for breath between words and Billy doesn't want to do this, he wants to more than anything but he can't do this, he needs Dom to stop and this conversation to end everything to go back to the careful, unspoken status quo.
"Dom, god, c'mon," he says and realizes what he's done too late, as he hears his own voice gone strained, half a whisper.
Dom gasps, chokes off a noise, too loud, and then goes abruptly, completely silent. Billy finds himself holding his breath, unable to stop himself from picturing Dom stretched and tense and straining, jeans shoved down around his thighs, hand over his mouth, arched and shaking with the effort of staying still, staying quiet.
Billy doesn't move either, frozen in the moment until a long sigh on the other end of the line drops him back into reality. He unclenches his fist from the sheets. He's achingly hard, keyed up, panicking. The question of who will speak first hangs heavy between them. His mind whirls, trying to come up with something to say that will fix this, will undo it or make it a joke, but he can't think of anything so he just lies there and listens to Dom's breathing slow down. The tap in his bathroom is leaking a little bit and he counts time by it.
After eighty-two drips the line goes dead.
***
What they are doing, apparently, is pretending it never happened. The next day is silence, but the day after that Dom calls with a story about Miranda accidentally stabbing someone and they go more or less back to normal. If their conversations are a little shorter than usual, a little more stilted, well, in two weeks they'll actually see each other again and surely that will mend whatever patience can't.
It will have to. Billy gets back first by two days with things still not quite right and every hour crawls. Of course, it isn't just the two of them coming back. The next thing they're shooting is all the climactic battle scenes, which means almost everyone besides Elijah and Sean, who are still stumbling around in front of a green screen looking dehydrated. Somehow Billy gets talked into hosting a grand reunion party- because he misses his friends, of course, certainly not because at the last minute he gets nervous about being alone with Dom.
It doesn't even matter that close to thirty people stop by over the course of the evening. Billy watches the door out of the corner of his eye the whole time and he knows the instant Dom arrives, looks up and locks gazes with him in an echo of their first meeting. They lunge at each other, of course, not even a choice, because whatever else is going on they're still Billy and Dom and haven't seen each other in two months. In about twenty seconds they're the center of a rowdy, claustrophobic group hug. Somebody swats him in the head and someone else treads on his foot when the whole thing lurches dangerously to one side, but he's laughing and holding on to Dom for dear life and at that moment he really, honestly thinks everything's going to be all right.
It very soon becomes clear that he's being far too optimistic. That phone call shifted something between them, something he thought would be better in person but it isn't, it's tense and dangerous. He can't stop his mind from calling up images he doesn't want. It doesn't help that Dom looks almost unbearably gorgeous, a worn brown t-shirt clinging to his shoulders and his hair grown out just enough to be spiky. Billy keeps staring at his hands, no matter how hard he tries not to, no matter how much he doesn't want those images that have plagued him for the last two weeks. He can't hold them at bay, not with Dom gesturing excitedly as he talks, picking up his beer bottle, rings clinking as his fingers curl.
The worst part is that once, maybe twice, when he wrenches his eyes away he finds Dom looking steadily back at him, intent and unreadable.
Filming starts the next day, so everyone clears out at a vaguely reasonable hour. Around quarter to two in the morning Billy gets roped into operation peel-Orlando-off-the-sofa-and-dump-him-in-Karl's-car, which takes a good ten minutes, and when he finally gets back it's just Dom, leaning against the wall and fiddling with the last of his beer. He looks up when he hears the door close. Billy, in a sudden fit of cowardice, grabs the nearest pile of dirty dishes and escapes to the kitchen.
There are footsteps behind him as soon as he puts them down. They're doing this now, then. He turns, watches Dom come closer, too close, until he's backed Billy against the sink with maybe half a foot between them.
"Bill," he says, and raises a hand- slowly, slow enough to be stopped- and rests it high on Billy's chest. He looks like there are a million things going through his head, fighting to get out, which seems odd because for once Billy isn't thinking at all, just waiting, feeling fingertips curl over the top of his shoulder.
"Please," says Dom.
It comes to him simply, an obvious truth, not new: he cannot deny Dom anything. Maybe Dom knows it too, because in all the months of their unspoken understanding he has never once asked.
"I'm sorry," says Billy, because all he wanted was to keep them from being beholden to one another and somehow all he accomplished was selfishness.
Kissing Dom is giving in, is easy.
***
This is the image Billy remembers from that night: darkness, the shape of Dom's shoulder blades, sweat in the hair on the back of his neck. It's very late, late enough that he thinks the sky should be lightening any minute, is thankful for every moment more the night stretches. His arms are tired.
Billy, who never considers such things, finds himself wondering how many times they've done this before, how many times they will again. He wonders if his future selves will try to remember this moment. He wonders what he'll guess, what he'll assume, looking back on this life that will be no more than a feeling. He thinks, I can't possibly love him well enough. He wonders how many time's he's thought it before.
"You know," says Dom, low and amused, "when I said I'd wait forever this wasn't exactly what I was talking about."
Billy laughs away the truth in that, touches his forehead to Dom's back, and straightens his arms.
***
He wakes up with the room lightening around him. Dom is sitting on the edge of the bed in jeans and nothing else, regarding him steadily. There's a smudge of a bruise on one side of his neck that probably has Billy's teeth marks in it. He remembers doing that, in the kitchen, which seems impossibly long ago. Dom looks like he meant it about forever, like he's waiting for the axe to fall, like every single thing Billy's done since meeting him has made everything worse and worse and worse.
Billy can't meet his gaze any more; he sits up, pulling the sheet around his waist, and looks at his hands instead. He doesn't know how to fix this.
"I-" he starts, and has to stop and clear his throat and start again. "I have to think, Dom. Can you just give me a little space?"
After a moment he adds, "I'm sorry," means for everything.
Dom doesn't say anything, just gets his shirt and closes the door behind him.
***
He gets his space. The week crawls on; they are cordial to each other on set and don't talk at all otherwise, to the point where being in character starts to feel like a relief. Billy curses his own indecisiveness and spends too much time watching Dom. On the third day it starts raining at eleven a.m. and by one Peter lets them all go, which would normally mean takeaway and video games and conversation all afternoon. Instead he goes home and sits by himself, trying to figure out what to do. It doesn't do any good. He just thinks himself in the same circles, damned either way, no solution.
A little after 6 p.m. someone pounds on the door.
It's still pouring, so Billy gets it open as quickly as he can, only to find Dom standing about three feet away from his doorstep. He's completely soaked through and what's more he looks completely, incongruously happy, a wicked tilt to his grin that Billy hasn't seen in months.
"No!" says Dom.
Billy gapes at him for a minute. "Come inside," he says, "you must be freezing."
"Come inside?" repeats Dom, sounding scandalized. "By no means. I have a speech to make, Billy Boyd, and I am damn well going to make it out here in the rain where it belongs. And when I am finished you can come out here too and kiss me in the rain and then we will go inside."
"Oh, no," says Billy, "you are not making my life into a romantic comedy."
"You just try and stop me."
"Fine." He's fighting a smile, despite himself. "You have thirty seconds and then I'm closing this door. There's a draft."
"Very well. Ahem." Dom runs a hand through his hair, shakes his shoulders out, and then flings his arms wide. "No!" he declares.
There is a pause.
"You're supposed to say no, what?"
"No, what?" says Billy dutifully.
"No, I will not give you space! I don't think you need space. I don't think you're doing anything productive with space. I think you need to hear something, and this is what it is: I love you. I love you, and if anything ever happens to you I will be devastated. But I will be devastated even if we're just friends, or if we're awkward repeated drunken mistakes, or even if you decide to never speak to me again, it doesn't matter. The damage is done, Bill, and I think it's done for you too. You once said to me that you wanted this life-"
"Dom!"
He falters. "What?"
"Time's up. Get inside."
"I told you, come out and kiss me first."
There is a brief staring contest. Eventually Billy sighs, shudders, and walks out into the rain. He's drenched within seconds. Trying to ignore it, he steps in close, cups a hand around Dom's cheek—and drags him into a headlock and up the stairs.
"Much better," he says, releasing Dom and kicking the door shut behind them.
"Definitely," agrees Dom. "What a storm. You should probably get out of those wet clothes." He looks up from toeing off his shoes long enough to wink. "Anyway. You once said to me that you wanted this life to be about the decisions-"
"Dom."
He stops, looking unsure for the first time since Billy opened the door.
"Okay," Billy says.
"...Okay?"
"Okay, Dom."
He still doesn't know if it's the right decision, but the smile breaking across Dom's face is reassurance enough.
"Are you sure?" says Dom, eyes dancing. "The second half of that speech is really good."
Billy grins back at him.
"I don't know," he says, "These wet clothes might make it awfully hard to concentrate."
***
It's still raining the next morning. They get a call that filming's been cancelled but Billy gets up anyway, wanders into the kitchen to make tea. He's sitting at the table watching the kettle heat when Dom comes in.
"How're you doing?" he asks.
"Kind of terrified," Billy admits. "I just...I want it to be about us, you know?"
Dom wraps an arm around him from behind. "Oh, Billy," he says. "It always is."
------------
all that I wanted were things I had before is from the song Circle by Slipknot
a chord that rings and never fades is from the song One Stage Before by Al Stewart
if I play the same three chords is from the song It's All Been Done by the Barenaked Ladies
[see first post for notes and warnings]
two: billy
It's a Wednesday, nearing the end of their separate filming, and dialing Dom's number is so automatic that Billy doesn't even remember doing it.
"I can't believe you sicced me on Elijah," he says as soon as Dom picks up.
"I what?"
"Well, unless he was making it up for some reason. He just called to say he'd sworn to you that he wouldn't start anything with Sean until he'd given me one chance to talk him out of it."
"Oh," says Dom, and then again with a different inflection, "oh. What happened?'
"I talked him out of it. That is what you wanted, right?"
"Yeah, it was." There's a faint rustling sound on the other end of the line which could be something as innocent as Dom settling into bed, but it isn't. Billy knows that Dom sometimes wanks while they're on the phone. He also knows that Dom isn't sleeping with anyone else and isn't going to, and even though it's more about Dom's feelings than Billy's, even though he certainly hasn't asked for it, it's still because of him. Rambling about his day when Dom stops being able to hold up his end of the conversation seems like the least he can do.
"So how did you do it?" Dom asks. Billy forces his mind away from where it wants to picture what's happening at the other end of the line and makes himself think about Elijah.
"It wasn't that hard. If he didn't already know it was a terrible idea he wouldn't have called me in the first place, promise or no. I talked about the girls a lot, and Chris. It makes no sense to cause so much pain to so many people just because you were lovers in some other life. That's just a fact, it's not a relationship with any kind of history or growth or, oh, marriage vows. How could the fact that one time things were different take precedence over the bond that Sean and Christine have, the real one in this life? He doesn't even know the details of what happened last time. Maybe it was a disaster. If you're just going to try your hardest to recreate one life over and over again what's the point of having more than one? What's the point of having free will, for that matter?"
"Very persuasive," says Dom. There's an edge to his voice, no way to know if it's arousal or a reaction to Billy's words.
"Lij thought so, at least."
"That's all that matters."
A pause. Billy listens to Dom's breathing, wishing he hadn't brought it up in the first place.
"So what have you been up to, other than preventing catastrophe among our fellow castmembers?" asks Dom after a moment.
"Nothing very exciting. Pippin and Faramir today, which mean hours of shooting on my knees."
"Poor David."
"Poor David? Because he got to stand around and watch me give myself bruises all day?"
"Because he had to watch you on your knees all day staring up at him and still act professional."
It hits Billy like a punch to the gut, steals his breath, the sheer physical shock of it. There's no question what Dom's imagining and he's caught between the fantasy itself and the knowledge that Dom is thinking about it, right now, thinking about Billy's mouth on him and getting off on the phone where Billy can hear every movement. He slams his free hand down on the bed to stop it going anywhere else.
"I'm sorry," Dom says, making Billy realize that he's been silent for too long. "Sorry. Billy. I shouldn't have..." It's sincere enough but he sounds absolutely wrecked, gravelly, panting for breath between words and Billy doesn't want to do this, he wants to more than anything but he can't do this, he needs Dom to stop and this conversation to end everything to go back to the careful, unspoken status quo.
"Dom, god, c'mon," he says and realizes what he's done too late, as he hears his own voice gone strained, half a whisper.
Dom gasps, chokes off a noise, too loud, and then goes abruptly, completely silent. Billy finds himself holding his breath, unable to stop himself from picturing Dom stretched and tense and straining, jeans shoved down around his thighs, hand over his mouth, arched and shaking with the effort of staying still, staying quiet.
Billy doesn't move either, frozen in the moment until a long sigh on the other end of the line drops him back into reality. He unclenches his fist from the sheets. He's achingly hard, keyed up, panicking. The question of who will speak first hangs heavy between them. His mind whirls, trying to come up with something to say that will fix this, will undo it or make it a joke, but he can't think of anything so he just lies there and listens to Dom's breathing slow down. The tap in his bathroom is leaking a little bit and he counts time by it.
After eighty-two drips the line goes dead.
***
What they are doing, apparently, is pretending it never happened. The next day is silence, but the day after that Dom calls with a story about Miranda accidentally stabbing someone and they go more or less back to normal. If their conversations are a little shorter than usual, a little more stilted, well, in two weeks they'll actually see each other again and surely that will mend whatever patience can't.
It will have to. Billy gets back first by two days with things still not quite right and every hour crawls. Of course, it isn't just the two of them coming back. The next thing they're shooting is all the climactic battle scenes, which means almost everyone besides Elijah and Sean, who are still stumbling around in front of a green screen looking dehydrated. Somehow Billy gets talked into hosting a grand reunion party- because he misses his friends, of course, certainly not because at the last minute he gets nervous about being alone with Dom.
It doesn't even matter that close to thirty people stop by over the course of the evening. Billy watches the door out of the corner of his eye the whole time and he knows the instant Dom arrives, looks up and locks gazes with him in an echo of their first meeting. They lunge at each other, of course, not even a choice, because whatever else is going on they're still Billy and Dom and haven't seen each other in two months. In about twenty seconds they're the center of a rowdy, claustrophobic group hug. Somebody swats him in the head and someone else treads on his foot when the whole thing lurches dangerously to one side, but he's laughing and holding on to Dom for dear life and at that moment he really, honestly thinks everything's going to be all right.
It very soon becomes clear that he's being far too optimistic. That phone call shifted something between them, something he thought would be better in person but it isn't, it's tense and dangerous. He can't stop his mind from calling up images he doesn't want. It doesn't help that Dom looks almost unbearably gorgeous, a worn brown t-shirt clinging to his shoulders and his hair grown out just enough to be spiky. Billy keeps staring at his hands, no matter how hard he tries not to, no matter how much he doesn't want those images that have plagued him for the last two weeks. He can't hold them at bay, not with Dom gesturing excitedly as he talks, picking up his beer bottle, rings clinking as his fingers curl.
The worst part is that once, maybe twice, when he wrenches his eyes away he finds Dom looking steadily back at him, intent and unreadable.
Filming starts the next day, so everyone clears out at a vaguely reasonable hour. Around quarter to two in the morning Billy gets roped into operation peel-Orlando-off-the-sofa-and-dump-him-in-Karl's-car, which takes a good ten minutes, and when he finally gets back it's just Dom, leaning against the wall and fiddling with the last of his beer. He looks up when he hears the door close. Billy, in a sudden fit of cowardice, grabs the nearest pile of dirty dishes and escapes to the kitchen.
There are footsteps behind him as soon as he puts them down. They're doing this now, then. He turns, watches Dom come closer, too close, until he's backed Billy against the sink with maybe half a foot between them.
"Bill," he says, and raises a hand- slowly, slow enough to be stopped- and rests it high on Billy's chest. He looks like there are a million things going through his head, fighting to get out, which seems odd because for once Billy isn't thinking at all, just waiting, feeling fingertips curl over the top of his shoulder.
"Please," says Dom.
It comes to him simply, an obvious truth, not new: he cannot deny Dom anything. Maybe Dom knows it too, because in all the months of their unspoken understanding he has never once asked.
"I'm sorry," says Billy, because all he wanted was to keep them from being beholden to one another and somehow all he accomplished was selfishness.
Kissing Dom is giving in, is easy.
***
This is the image Billy remembers from that night: darkness, the shape of Dom's shoulder blades, sweat in the hair on the back of his neck. It's very late, late enough that he thinks the sky should be lightening any minute, is thankful for every moment more the night stretches. His arms are tired.
Billy, who never considers such things, finds himself wondering how many times they've done this before, how many times they will again. He wonders if his future selves will try to remember this moment. He wonders what he'll guess, what he'll assume, looking back on this life that will be no more than a feeling. He thinks, I can't possibly love him well enough. He wonders how many time's he's thought it before.
"You know," says Dom, low and amused, "when I said I'd wait forever this wasn't exactly what I was talking about."
Billy laughs away the truth in that, touches his forehead to Dom's back, and straightens his arms.
***
He wakes up with the room lightening around him. Dom is sitting on the edge of the bed in jeans and nothing else, regarding him steadily. There's a smudge of a bruise on one side of his neck that probably has Billy's teeth marks in it. He remembers doing that, in the kitchen, which seems impossibly long ago. Dom looks like he meant it about forever, like he's waiting for the axe to fall, like every single thing Billy's done since meeting him has made everything worse and worse and worse.
Billy can't meet his gaze any more; he sits up, pulling the sheet around his waist, and looks at his hands instead. He doesn't know how to fix this.
"I-" he starts, and has to stop and clear his throat and start again. "I have to think, Dom. Can you just give me a little space?"
After a moment he adds, "I'm sorry," means for everything.
Dom doesn't say anything, just gets his shirt and closes the door behind him.
***
He gets his space. The week crawls on; they are cordial to each other on set and don't talk at all otherwise, to the point where being in character starts to feel like a relief. Billy curses his own indecisiveness and spends too much time watching Dom. On the third day it starts raining at eleven a.m. and by one Peter lets them all go, which would normally mean takeaway and video games and conversation all afternoon. Instead he goes home and sits by himself, trying to figure out what to do. It doesn't do any good. He just thinks himself in the same circles, damned either way, no solution.
A little after 6 p.m. someone pounds on the door.
It's still pouring, so Billy gets it open as quickly as he can, only to find Dom standing about three feet away from his doorstep. He's completely soaked through and what's more he looks completely, incongruously happy, a wicked tilt to his grin that Billy hasn't seen in months.
"No!" says Dom.
Billy gapes at him for a minute. "Come inside," he says, "you must be freezing."
"Come inside?" repeats Dom, sounding scandalized. "By no means. I have a speech to make, Billy Boyd, and I am damn well going to make it out here in the rain where it belongs. And when I am finished you can come out here too and kiss me in the rain and then we will go inside."
"Oh, no," says Billy, "you are not making my life into a romantic comedy."
"You just try and stop me."
"Fine." He's fighting a smile, despite himself. "You have thirty seconds and then I'm closing this door. There's a draft."
"Very well. Ahem." Dom runs a hand through his hair, shakes his shoulders out, and then flings his arms wide. "No!" he declares.
There is a pause.
"You're supposed to say no, what?"
"No, what?" says Billy dutifully.
"No, I will not give you space! I don't think you need space. I don't think you're doing anything productive with space. I think you need to hear something, and this is what it is: I love you. I love you, and if anything ever happens to you I will be devastated. But I will be devastated even if we're just friends, or if we're awkward repeated drunken mistakes, or even if you decide to never speak to me again, it doesn't matter. The damage is done, Bill, and I think it's done for you too. You once said to me that you wanted this life-"
"Dom!"
He falters. "What?"
"Time's up. Get inside."
"I told you, come out and kiss me first."
There is a brief staring contest. Eventually Billy sighs, shudders, and walks out into the rain. He's drenched within seconds. Trying to ignore it, he steps in close, cups a hand around Dom's cheek—and drags him into a headlock and up the stairs.
"Much better," he says, releasing Dom and kicking the door shut behind them.
"Definitely," agrees Dom. "What a storm. You should probably get out of those wet clothes." He looks up from toeing off his shoes long enough to wink. "Anyway. You once said to me that you wanted this life to be about the decisions-"
"Dom."
He stops, looking unsure for the first time since Billy opened the door.
"Okay," Billy says.
"...Okay?"
"Okay, Dom."
He still doesn't know if it's the right decision, but the smile breaking across Dom's face is reassurance enough.
"Are you sure?" says Dom, eyes dancing. "The second half of that speech is really good."
Billy grins back at him.
"I don't know," he says, "These wet clothes might make it awfully hard to concentrate."
***
It's still raining the next morning. They get a call that filming's been cancelled but Billy gets up anyway, wanders into the kitchen to make tea. He's sitting at the table watching the kettle heat when Dom comes in.
"How're you doing?" he asks.
"Kind of terrified," Billy admits. "I just...I want it to be about us, you know?"
Dom wraps an arm around him from behind. "Oh, Billy," he says. "It always is."
------------
all that I wanted were things I had before is from the song Circle by Slipknot
a chord that rings and never fades is from the song One Stage Before by Al Stewart
if I play the same three chords is from the song It's All Been Done by the Barenaked Ladies
[see first post for notes and warnings]
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 01:49 am (UTC)Billy laughs away the truth in that, touches his forehead to Dom's back, and straightens his arms.
Ohhhh hottttt.
Also, I love Dom's sweet optimism and Billy's irrepressible hesitation. You've put a fun, interesting new spin on it :D
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-03 10:24 pm (UTC)I do love your dialog, and Dom in the rain.
ETA: I came back to this and read it again and I really love it. Billy rejecting the feeling of destiny, Viggo, and Elijah doing the same, made it work for me. Because there are choices and Billy can choose love. [So I recced it]
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 07:58 am (UTC)I have a childhood past life story not unlike Dom's, so this resonates.
Also, OMFG Scribe. My kitchen sink kink. You hit it. You it it HARD. *squirms* I love it so much.