monaboyd_month | Fic: Out of Focus

Title: Out of Focus
Author:

beizy
Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: R
Notes: Well, it's the 11th, innit? :D

*

The picture opens up on a fuzzy green and rainbow colored landscape, unrecognizable at first due to the lack of focus. A din of noise, equally unfocused, rushes the audio with overblown intensity. The image wobbles. Someone's picked up the camera. A button is hit, a curse muttered, and the focus pans backward, forward, and finally finds a comfortable level. The fuzziness clears, revealing a pool table, game in progress.

Elijah, kitten-haired and small, is bantering somewhat self-consciously with Orli, who is young and slender as a rail and clearly insane. Orli is easy to like because he wants to be liked so blatantly and purely. It's equal parts pathetic and adorable. Elijah for his part still thinks everyone onset hates him and Dom has to admit, he and the boys have been taking the piss a bit extra just to keep him guessing. He will shortly discover that everyone thinks he's a great guy, but for now they are keeping him humble.

"Oi," Dom's voice comes through the camera, very loud due to proximity. "I'm recording you lot for posterity. Do something fucking interesting."

Billy is bent over the pool table. He finishes his turn before glancing up. At that angle, all fierce lines and chest hair showing from inside his button-down shirt, he looks quite feral. Can someone be gorgeous and feral at the same time, Dom wonders?

Billy leans on his cue, clears his throat, and the camera jerkily pans over to him.

"Mister Boyd would like to state for the record that 'interesting' will only commence when Mister Monaghan produces cash or expensive alcohol. Or both."

"Mister Monaghan could tell Mister Boyd to piss off, but he is above such petty insults," Dom replies, giddy laughter just underneath the words. He has not yet developed the ability to hide his reaction to Billy's blatant brilliance. He is just a little obsessed with it.

"There is a slight—a very slight, mind you—possibility that less impressive alcohol, administered in small doses over the course of several hours, may produce some brand of interesting which Mister Monaghan may find worthy of his film."

Dom is beaming so hard that his face hurts. He keeps waiting for someone to take the mickey out of him for his blatant and rather girly adoration.

"I think Elijah's going to light something on fire, give it here!" a high-pitched voice chimes in from somewhere to the camera's right. The screen wobbles, captures a flailing hand or two, and then goes black.

*

There's an entire tape of the fifth or so time they play Tig. It is over three hours long. Elijah is fucking clueless. Sean and Dom may have wet themselves holding in the laughter and rightly so; when confused, Elijah looks very much like a small woodland creature under the influence of amphetamines. Closer inspection of the video may confirm or deny said trouser-pissing but Dom usually fast forwards through. Tig looks terribly impressive at that speed but the end of the video is his goal.

Sparse, overcast forest fills the picture. A blur of gray-robed booty-footed hobbit goes past and the camera follows; first the picture and then the entire personage, Dom chasing Billy who is chasing Elijah who is chasing Orli. Muffled curses and "Give it back, fucker!" float around the trees. Dom's accelerated breathing makes the audio huff. When he stops he zooms in on Orli, who has been tackled by Elijah, who is alternately strangling and punching him, and Billy, who is somewhere in between them.

Billy emerges victorious from the pile moments later, granola bar in hand. He saunters over to Dom. Elijah and Orli are giggling. "They are in love. They think they can conceal it, poor lambs. We are gentlemen, however, and shan't speak of it again." He waggles his prize.

"Isn't that apple-cinnamon flavored?" Dom asks.

Billy's tiny face falls.

"I am sorry, my friend. It is all in vain."

"Every last moment and pulled muscle. My spine has reorganized itself for naught."

The camera pans. Billy is flushed and his wig is out of sorts. The makeup that lines his face is cracked. They will need to be rearranged for the camera. Peter will have a fit. It's going to be a good day.

Dom zooms in on Billy's face. "Oh, shut up. You're not that ancient."

"You are zooming in. I know it." He steps closer, until his nose is fish-eyed in the lens. Dom doesn't move, though he shakes with silent laughter. "One day I will murder you and destroy these reminders of my advanced age and physical imperfections."

The camera pans down. Dom has turned the lens to the forest floor and obviously put the camera between them at waist level. Their covered hobbit feet surrounded by leaf litter fill the picture. Their voices are lower.

"The camera is forgiving," Dom says.

"Is it?"

"Mm-hmm."

There's a pause. Dom itches his right foot with his left. Billy's hand comes up into frame. Just as his fingertips pass cross the lens, the video ends.

*

Elijah's videos, above all else, are sneaky. He's the one who films people when they are not looking.

There's one tape that lasts thirty-eight minutes and captures nothing but picture and background noise because it takes place in a noisy pub. He films Dom and Billy sitting about ten feet away at a booth of their own, engaged in intense conversation. The picture is black and white. The pair is reduced to shadows and edges, black-white-gray and barely recognizable.

The chat starts out light enough it seems, smiles and giggles all around, but three or four drinks later Dom's face is tense and Billy's is one shade shy of twitchy. They scoot closer and speak back and forth into each other's ears. As the minutes pass they appear to be arguing.

At thirty six minutes and twenty four seconds, Dom stands suddenly and leaves pub. Billy turns from the camera's line of sight and brings his pint up to his lips. His shoulders seem to fall just a little.

Elijah turns the camera off.

*

One video is fourteen minutes of nothing but wind and the view from Edoras. Dom doesn't speak.

*

Sean's videos are infrequent but instantly recognizable. They primarily feature his wife, daughter, Elijah, and filming locations. He tries to turn them into projects, at times going so far as to invite people to act out scenarios for him. Elijah makes every effort to ruin them with dirty language and behavior. When the situation is especially dire, he may even resort to singing. They aren't even the least bit pornographic, he complains, what's the point? (And then when Sean's serious, when Sean's coming apart at the seams, when Sean's in the mood to bicker, Elijah will gently suggest they film something, go somewhere with the camera, make up some funny skit, until Sean's smiling again.)

There is one taken in the middle of the parking lot behind the trailers close to the end of a day of shooting which features half the Fellowship, Ali, and some crew kicking the football around. It remains suitable for all viewing audiences because Elijah is asleep in his trailer. Sean starts filming because it's been a long time since they have all been together here at this hour of the day and he's having a good afternoon, emotionally speaking.

Everyone is tired and a little cold. Dom and Orli are amusing Ali; her laughter bounces off the trailers as they trap the ball and her between them again and again. Billy is chatting with Fon. He keeps glancing over at the game of monkey in the middle, as if he can't help it.

"Hon, have you seen the baby's gloves?" Christine's voice comes from behind the camera.

"Didn't you put them in the bag?"

"Oh, right," she replies, and the camera wobbles.

"Dom said he wanted to—" The picture goes black.

*

There is a one minute and forty three second video of Dom and Billy on a balcony, standing elbow to elbow at the rail against a black nighttime sky. The camera is well behind them and off to the right, as if the person filming doesn't want to be seen. Their forms are grainy and the crowd behind the camera hopelessly drowns out any dialogue that passes between them. Flutes of champagne dangle from their hands. Their heads are hung low as if they are engaged in conversation and, during the last six seconds of the video, shift inward to accommodate a soft, intensely private kiss.

"Oh, shit," Elijah's voice sounds into the camera's speaker.

*

The glow off the snow bleaches everything so startlingly white that you can't tell where they are until Dom pans up toward the mountains and the dark splotches temper the picture. Elijah and Christine go whizzing past the lens, followed by several of their friends. The tall one with the wonky tassel on his hat may be Viggo. Billy is one of the last to arrive and when he does, he practically boards right into Dom. The picture jostles and Dom makes a noise. He wobbles, almost positive he has recovered, and then topples onto his arse. The picture goes topsy-turvy and then Billy grabs the camera and turns it on him.

"Yes!" Billy shouts. "Ten point landing. No. Twelve point landing."

Dom mutters something insulting and then something that sounds like, "there is no such thing, you nutter". He looks silly in his mismatched gear with his large nose apple red and covered in snow. He is sulking.

Billy turns the camera toward his own face. He is grinning wildly. He looks cold-flushed and badly attired much like Dom but minus the abnormally large nose, ta very much. "He gets tetchy when I display my superior masculine strength, bless."

There is a bit of a fumble-pounce from below Billy's knees; dark mountain and bright snow flashes across the frame. Billy goes down, hitting the snow with Dom. They roll around like kids until Billy pins Dom beneath him. Billy has been clutching the camera between them and now it is lifted enough to capture Dom's face, which is even redder than before, cheeks blazing hot rather than cold. Billy pauses, shifting his weight across Dom's pelvis. They are both panting and the camera picks up the noise heavily.

"Bill," Dom says, low, his lips curling around the single syllable, and it seems that he says it for the sole pleasure of the sound alone, for the feel of it across his tongue.

Billy doesn't reply; he just switches the camera off.

*

Billy is wearing a pair of trackies and a smile, hair mused and tea billowing steam in front of him. They are sitting at Dom's kitchen table.

"We have reclaimed this device in the name of us," he says.

"Let it be known throughout the land: Elijah Wood is a wanker," Dom adds. "Astin is not a wanker. Astin can stay. We recognize that, without Elijah, Astin may choose not to stay, but we feel with proper bribery we can convince him that our great empire will only become greater sans the bug-eyed arsehole. Orli can stay but only if he brings drink of some kind, and those little crunchy snack what's-its that we had last week end—"

"Dom," Billy says. "That is not at all proper." He pauses. "We can't admit to bribery. We must present a politically correct front at all times. Also, those snacks left orange cheese stains all over my settee. We will have to discuss that at a later time."

"Oh, sod it," Dom says.

The picture shakes. Dom puts the video camera on the table and then, unsatisfied with the angle, props it up with a jam jar. He slides into the chair next to Billy. He is wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and, like Billy, a grin. The remains of a hasty breakfast litter the table. A cereal box almost cuts into the frame, but not quite. Sunlight has yet to bathe the kitchenette area and so the picture is grayish in background tone.

"When we found the New Year's tape in your flat, we decided that it would only be right to make you a full-frontal, hardcore, manly, gay sex video in retaliation, but Billy was averse to the lack of payment that would follow," Dom says. "However, we are compassionate mates. We understand your need to live vicariously through us. You are, after all, a sexless creature, scorned by females everywhere but especially in pubs in New Zealand as everyone, including that bloke with the funny eye who works on unit three, has noticed."

"Terribly unfortunate; mismatched bollocks and all, I do think the word's got out despite our best efforts," Billy says.

Dom nods sagely. "Too true. Ruling an empire is not all sweets and sunshine." He smiles a crooked smile. "At any rate, we hope you enjoy."

Dom slides a hand around the back of Billy's neck and pulls him in. They snog for twelve minutes and seventeen seconds, with copious amounts of tongue and noise (more than are strictly necessary, of course).

They chase Elijah around with the video for weeks until his eyeballs shrivel and he begs for death and finally promises to never, ever be a bad boy with the video camera ever again.

*

The shot is out of focus and angled because the camera is half-lost among sheets at the foot of Billy's bed. The outline of two masculine sets of upper bodies is obvious though fuzzy; sweat-spiked hair and flushed skin creating a wash of color and form, blankets bunched low at their hips offering contrast. Low, wet noises come muffled through the camera's speakers. Barely recognizable; a sharp inhale from Billy and low-pitched encouraging noises from Dom. Dom's knees tent the blankets. Billy's body moves between them.

The camera is wobbling to the rhythm of Billy's body; first slow, then faster, then faster still, then slow again, the pattern repeating several times over the course of fifty seven minutes and twenty one seconds before there is a contained explosion of noise; Billy's a low shout, Dom's an obscene phrase. The bed slams against the wall. The shape of Dom's legs around Billy's lower back is clear. Billy's face is buried in Dom's neck.

The camera goes still. Billy's shoulders heave. His sweaty head lifts feebly then falls again, forehead touching Dom's chest. Two hands, leather-clad wrists and fingers bearing rings, pan down Billy's flushed back, squeeze below the blankets, pull, and Billy twitches and sighs. They are both breathing heavily.

"Probably the last time," Dom inhales, shifting beneath Billy, "we'll be in this bed."

"Shut it," Billy says. His voice is thick.

The camera captures the two of them panting and watching each other's faces; soft backlight from a lamp opposite the bed, mused swirls of their hair, the unflinching way their eyes meet, the ruddy dampness of their cheeks, foreheads, and temples, and the lines of their profiles.

Billy closes his eyes and leans forward until their noses and foreheads touch. Dom's left hand strays to the hair at the nape of Billy's neck and closes in a possessive hold. They kiss.

Silence accomplishes what words cannot.

A leg unfolds beneath the blankets and smacks into the camera. It tumbles once, turning the scene upside down, then teeters (bedside table, condom foils and an uncapped tube of lubricant), and finally hits the floor with a thud (piles of clothing, the bright shine of a metal belt buckle, slightly dingy carpet). There is a layered quiet, and then:

"Did we leave it on?"

"Dominic—"

*

Current Mood: giddy

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

ex-rogerpit.livejournal.com

They snog for twelve minutes and seventeen seconds, with copious amounts of tongue and noise (more than are strictly necessary, of course).

Wonder how many DVDs would have been sold if that had been included...

From:

We poke badgers with spoons.

Fic: Out of Focus

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