Fic: By the Way
Jul. 4th, 2012 11:19 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
escribo.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
monaboyd_monthTitle: By the Way
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
escribo
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2010
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar."
Dominic nearly cringes the moment the words are out of his mouth. They're miles away from the cool yet suave speech he'd practiced on the trip from the airport to the studio. Okay, Hi I'm Dominic wasn't brilliant either but normal and he'd been distracted--New Zealand is gorgeous. Besides, he reasons, he's shooting for normal. He'd actually been shooting for Charlton Heston in El Cid but normal would have been good, too.
What he hadn't expected was the strange wave of déjà vu to every first day of every new school he'd started as a kid but it kind of makes sense. We are who we are, his dad would have said--did say and often, along with go with your strengths. His dad was the master of the platitude, reassuring even to a boy who had made eye rolling into high art by the time he was nine. Back then the jokes had always started with a well timed knock knock--he knew a hundred of them.
Dominic taps the tips of his fingers nervously on his thighs as he looks expectantly at this Billy Boyd, this Pippin to his Merry--looking to see if he knows the punchline (he hopes not). He's shorter than Dominic thought he'd be--by centimeters but... still. Dominic's strangely happy about that--that he won't be the smallest, and Billy doesn't seem like he minds at all.
"You've known me for less than a minute and I get your worst joke?"
The accent is thick, almost like music, and Dominic tips his head to the side, considering. An 11 year old Tommy O'Learey had said nearly the same thing the year Dominic started school in Manchester, and Dominic has to resist the urge to tap Billy on the shoulder and yell You're it before running away for a game of chase. He and Tommy had been best friends for years after that and Dominic can't help but think it's a good omen. Instead he rolls his shoulders, one side of his mouth curling up into a smile--Han Solo in the Mos Eisley cantina and too cool for this school. "It's a classic. I always go with the classics."
There's a moment--just a fraction of a second when Billy is taking his measure and Dominic stands a little straighter, wanting to pass. He does. He sees it in the glint of Billy's eyes before Billy lets out a loud cackle and Dominic knows he's hooked.
***
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar--"
"Learning lines here."
Billy doesn't look up from his script but Dominic can tell he's listening. It's only been three months but Dominic knows that look, knows all of Billy's looks. He's a quick study and his knowledge on the subject of Billy's expressions is nearly encyclopedic. He hasn't decided what to do with so much trivia, not yet at least. That Billy doesn't seem to mind the extra coursework Dominic's picked up is encouraging to say the least.
This look Billy's not giving him now says it'd take you less than a minute to convince me to play a game. Dominic presses on.
"And the bartender says--"
"The bartender says nothing because he beats you to within an inch of your life, only you didn't see him coming."
And there it is. Billy slumps low into his chair, the script dangling from his fingertips, dangerously close to falling onto the floor of their shared trailer that desperately needs a hoovering. There's another coming, they've been promised--private space for them both. Dominic hopes not. He doesn't want private.
He also has no guilt. Billy's studying is extraneous--Dominic knows that, too. Billy's a professional who learned his lines days ago. This is perfecting and Dominic blushes slightly at the stray thought of he's already perfect.
"They were a distraction," Dominic says, referring to his opening line, and Billy taps the side of his nose. "Clever."
Dominic's a professional, too, or at least he's becoming one. He's learned his lines over breakfast, and at this moment, with Billy's bright eyes focused on him (with a look that said how much trouble can we get up to in the next ten minutes), he'll take a different kind of perfection.
***
"So, a priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar."
Dominic had made it as far as the end of Billy's couch, curling up like a lap dog, his head on Billy's thigh, before collapsing, declaring then that he'd sleep right there and refused to budge, not that Billy tried very hard to make him move. Ten minutes later, he's begun to fidget like a four year old after a handful of chocolate buttons. A minute after that, his joke. The best joke ever. The one that never fails. Dominic wonders if he'll actually make it through the punchline this time. Billy's gentle massage along Dominic scalp, with his short, blunt nails digging in just along the edge of his wig where he knew it itched the most, said no.
Dominic didn't open his eyes but he could imagine how Billy looked--his head tipped back and his eyes closed, a tiny smile along the bow of his lips. It was a long time before he said anything, and when he does speak, Dominic can feel his voice rumbling where he has his face pushed against Billy's stomach.
"Not the priest joke." Always the very embodiment of brevity, except when he wasn't. Nearly three hours into what promised to be a very long night shoot, Billy's motto became save your energy. Usually sound advice but instead of soothing him, Billy's massage is like a live wire against Dominic's skin, and the only thing tethering Dominic to the couch at this point is Billy's long and curiously elegant fingers.
You should have been a pianist, Dominic thinks. You could have mastered the trapeze with fingers like that. Instead, he says, "You love my priest joke."
"I love you. There's a difference."
Dom's heart skips a beat, and he twists up from where he lays across the couch to look up at Billy. His Pippin wig is slightly askew, a tiny stain of blue ink on his lip and yet he still looks like the best thing Dom has ever seen. He searches Billy's face for a trace of joke--the but not like that to his declaration, and though he can't find it, Dominic still believes it. How can it be anything else? It's like the greatest set up for the worst joke ever.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar," Dominic tries again but he's silenced when Billy settles them both with a hand against Dominic's chest, idly twisting the buttons on Merry's waistcoat.
***
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar and the bartender says--"
"I knew you'd be chatty."
"Pathologically incapable of--what did you say?" Except it comes out more like wha'dj'a'say when Billy cuts him off with a kiss. The angle is nearly impossible so it's wet and sloppy, and Dominic twists around as much as he's able to kiss him back. This isn't their first time but it's the first time that they weren't both more than a little drunk, and so they both pretend that it is.
"What kind of joke is that any for a nice Catholic English boy anyway?"
"Dad taught it to me. He got it off an American--"
Billy changes his grip, changes his angle, cutting him off. Dominic huffs out a breathless little laugh, not wanting to think of his dad or priests in this precise moment, though he's the one who brought it up. His next laugh is spirals off into a whine when Billy's hand curls around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"So, what's the punchline," he growls into Dominic's ear, and Dominic arches his back--shakes his head, only remembering his name when Billy begins to chant it against his neck.
***
Billy asks, "How does it go?"
"How does what go?"
They'll be on separate flights because Elijah had convinced Dominic it would be fun to spend a week or two in California and all Billy wants is to be home asleep in his sister's guest room. Dominic's never been to Glasgow but right now it's the only place in the world he wants to be if it means he can spend a bit more time with Billy. He straightens his shoulders though, keenly aware of how soppy he'd been the night before and not wanting to give a matinee in a crowded airport. At least the night before he'd been drunk, reason enough to be riffing on his old joke to anyone who would listen (a hobbit, an elf, and a cave troll walk into a bar) until Billy had finally dragged him home and to bed.
"You've gone maudlin on me."
"I can't believe it's over."
Billy waves his hand and twists his lips. Not over, was the message, not by a long shot. It would be comforting if Dominic was in the mood to be comforted.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar." Billy soldiers on, slipping his hand beneath Dominic's t shirt to pinch his side. "And the cop says--"
"That's not how it goes."
"Then tell me."
The hand is soothing now, Billy sweeping his thumb in circles just beneath the waist of Dominic's jeans.
"You'll call me?"
"Repeatedly. I'll leave you filthy voicemails if you don't answer."
A voice announces his flight and over Billy's shoulder, Dominic can see Elijah bouncing on his heels, his earbuds firmly in place. Around him the other passengers are gathering up their bags and taking children by the hands, a collective push toward the queue that Dominic should be joining. He hates getting on planes last, hates saying good-bye even more, no matter how temporary.
He takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly, and startles when Billy catches him with a firm hand on his waist, reeling him in, his other hand cradling his skull. Dominic hugs him tight, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing Billy in before Billy lets him go. Dominic nods once, looking away so that he can force a smile. He grabs his bag from where he's dropped it at his feet and swings it over his shoulder. Elijah pats him on his shoulder. He's nearly to the gate when he looks back and sees Billy still watching him, his hands in his pockets.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar," he calls, feeling stupid by the way his voice cracks. The other passengers are flowing around him, and Elijah's stops at his side, though he pretends he isn't listening. Billy leans forward--expectant, waiting for the punchline, and Dominic memorizes his face--cataloging it away. "And the bartender says, what is this? Some kind of joke?"
Billy tips his head back, laughing out loud over the sound of other people calling out their farewells, and Dominic laughs, too, relieved and in love, not even bothering to say good-bye. It's not over, he knows--not by a long shot.
Author:
escriboRating: R
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2010
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar."
Dominic nearly cringes the moment the words are out of his mouth. They're miles away from the cool yet suave speech he'd practiced on the trip from the airport to the studio. Okay, Hi I'm Dominic wasn't brilliant either but normal and he'd been distracted--New Zealand is gorgeous. Besides, he reasons, he's shooting for normal. He'd actually been shooting for Charlton Heston in El Cid but normal would have been good, too.
What he hadn't expected was the strange wave of déjà vu to every first day of every new school he'd started as a kid but it kind of makes sense. We are who we are, his dad would have said--did say and often, along with go with your strengths. His dad was the master of the platitude, reassuring even to a boy who had made eye rolling into high art by the time he was nine. Back then the jokes had always started with a well timed knock knock--he knew a hundred of them.
Dominic taps the tips of his fingers nervously on his thighs as he looks expectantly at this Billy Boyd, this Pippin to his Merry--looking to see if he knows the punchline (he hopes not). He's shorter than Dominic thought he'd be--by centimeters but... still. Dominic's strangely happy about that--that he won't be the smallest, and Billy doesn't seem like he minds at all.
"You've known me for less than a minute and I get your worst joke?"
The accent is thick, almost like music, and Dominic tips his head to the side, considering. An 11 year old Tommy O'Learey had said nearly the same thing the year Dominic started school in Manchester, and Dominic has to resist the urge to tap Billy on the shoulder and yell You're it before running away for a game of chase. He and Tommy had been best friends for years after that and Dominic can't help but think it's a good omen. Instead he rolls his shoulders, one side of his mouth curling up into a smile--Han Solo in the Mos Eisley cantina and too cool for this school. "It's a classic. I always go with the classics."
There's a moment--just a fraction of a second when Billy is taking his measure and Dominic stands a little straighter, wanting to pass. He does. He sees it in the glint of Billy's eyes before Billy lets out a loud cackle and Dominic knows he's hooked.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar--"
"Learning lines here."
Billy doesn't look up from his script but Dominic can tell he's listening. It's only been three months but Dominic knows that look, knows all of Billy's looks. He's a quick study and his knowledge on the subject of Billy's expressions is nearly encyclopedic. He hasn't decided what to do with so much trivia, not yet at least. That Billy doesn't seem to mind the extra coursework Dominic's picked up is encouraging to say the least.
This look Billy's not giving him now says it'd take you less than a minute to convince me to play a game. Dominic presses on.
"And the bartender says--"
"The bartender says nothing because he beats you to within an inch of your life, only you didn't see him coming."
And there it is. Billy slumps low into his chair, the script dangling from his fingertips, dangerously close to falling onto the floor of their shared trailer that desperately needs a hoovering. There's another coming, they've been promised--private space for them both. Dominic hopes not. He doesn't want private.
He also has no guilt. Billy's studying is extraneous--Dominic knows that, too. Billy's a professional who learned his lines days ago. This is perfecting and Dominic blushes slightly at the stray thought of he's already perfect.
"They were a distraction," Dominic says, referring to his opening line, and Billy taps the side of his nose. "Clever."
Dominic's a professional, too, or at least he's becoming one. He's learned his lines over breakfast, and at this moment, with Billy's bright eyes focused on him (with a look that said how much trouble can we get up to in the next ten minutes), he'll take a different kind of perfection.
"So, a priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar."
Dominic had made it as far as the end of Billy's couch, curling up like a lap dog, his head on Billy's thigh, before collapsing, declaring then that he'd sleep right there and refused to budge, not that Billy tried very hard to make him move. Ten minutes later, he's begun to fidget like a four year old after a handful of chocolate buttons. A minute after that, his joke. The best joke ever. The one that never fails. Dominic wonders if he'll actually make it through the punchline this time. Billy's gentle massage along Dominic scalp, with his short, blunt nails digging in just along the edge of his wig where he knew it itched the most, said no.
Dominic didn't open his eyes but he could imagine how Billy looked--his head tipped back and his eyes closed, a tiny smile along the bow of his lips. It was a long time before he said anything, and when he does speak, Dominic can feel his voice rumbling where he has his face pushed against Billy's stomach.
"Not the priest joke." Always the very embodiment of brevity, except when he wasn't. Nearly three hours into what promised to be a very long night shoot, Billy's motto became save your energy. Usually sound advice but instead of soothing him, Billy's massage is like a live wire against Dominic's skin, and the only thing tethering Dominic to the couch at this point is Billy's long and curiously elegant fingers.
You should have been a pianist, Dominic thinks. You could have mastered the trapeze with fingers like that. Instead, he says, "You love my priest joke."
"I love you. There's a difference."
Dom's heart skips a beat, and he twists up from where he lays across the couch to look up at Billy. His Pippin wig is slightly askew, a tiny stain of blue ink on his lip and yet he still looks like the best thing Dom has ever seen. He searches Billy's face for a trace of joke--the but not like that to his declaration, and though he can't find it, Dominic still believes it. How can it be anything else? It's like the greatest set up for the worst joke ever.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar," Dominic tries again but he's silenced when Billy settles them both with a hand against Dominic's chest, idly twisting the buttons on Merry's waistcoat.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar and the bartender says--"
"I knew you'd be chatty."
"Pathologically incapable of--what did you say?" Except it comes out more like wha'dj'a'say when Billy cuts him off with a kiss. The angle is nearly impossible so it's wet and sloppy, and Dominic twists around as much as he's able to kiss him back. This isn't their first time but it's the first time that they weren't both more than a little drunk, and so they both pretend that it is.
"What kind of joke is that any for a nice Catholic English boy anyway?"
"Dad taught it to me. He got it off an American--"
Billy changes his grip, changes his angle, cutting him off. Dominic huffs out a breathless little laugh, not wanting to think of his dad or priests in this precise moment, though he's the one who brought it up. His next laugh is spirals off into a whine when Billy's hand curls around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"So, what's the punchline," he growls into Dominic's ear, and Dominic arches his back--shakes his head, only remembering his name when Billy begins to chant it against his neck.
Billy asks, "How does it go?"
"How does what go?"
They'll be on separate flights because Elijah had convinced Dominic it would be fun to spend a week or two in California and all Billy wants is to be home asleep in his sister's guest room. Dominic's never been to Glasgow but right now it's the only place in the world he wants to be if it means he can spend a bit more time with Billy. He straightens his shoulders though, keenly aware of how soppy he'd been the night before and not wanting to give a matinee in a crowded airport. At least the night before he'd been drunk, reason enough to be riffing on his old joke to anyone who would listen (a hobbit, an elf, and a cave troll walk into a bar) until Billy had finally dragged him home and to bed.
"You've gone maudlin on me."
"I can't believe it's over."
Billy waves his hand and twists his lips. Not over, was the message, not by a long shot. It would be comforting if Dominic was in the mood to be comforted.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar." Billy soldiers on, slipping his hand beneath Dominic's t shirt to pinch his side. "And the cop says--"
"That's not how it goes."
"Then tell me."
The hand is soothing now, Billy sweeping his thumb in circles just beneath the waist of Dominic's jeans.
"You'll call me?"
"Repeatedly. I'll leave you filthy voicemails if you don't answer."
A voice announces his flight and over Billy's shoulder, Dominic can see Elijah bouncing on his heels, his earbuds firmly in place. Around him the other passengers are gathering up their bags and taking children by the hands, a collective push toward the queue that Dominic should be joining. He hates getting on planes last, hates saying good-bye even more, no matter how temporary.
He takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly, and startles when Billy catches him with a firm hand on his waist, reeling him in, his other hand cradling his skull. Dominic hugs him tight, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing Billy in before Billy lets him go. Dominic nods once, looking away so that he can force a smile. He grabs his bag from where he's dropped it at his feet and swings it over his shoulder. Elijah pats him on his shoulder. He's nearly to the gate when he looks back and sees Billy still watching him, his hands in his pockets.
"A priest, a prostitute, and a cop walk into a bar," he calls, feeling stupid by the way his voice cracks. The other passengers are flowing around him, and Elijah's stops at his side, though he pretends he isn't listening. Billy leans forward--expectant, waiting for the punchline, and Dominic memorizes his face--cataloging it away. "And the bartender says, what is this? Some kind of joke?"
Billy tips his head back, laughing out loud over the sound of other people calling out their farewells, and Dominic laughs, too, relieved and in love, not even bothering to say good-bye. It's not over, he knows--not by a long shot.
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no subject
Date: 2012-07-04 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-04 04:41 pm (UTC)It wasn't over at all - still isn't. :)
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Date: 2012-07-04 04:50 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the sweet escape. :)
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Date: 2012-07-04 05:39 pm (UTC)I love this so much, and squealed progressively louder with each little vignette. Every inch perfect, not a word out of place, especially the surprise sex. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2012-07-04 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 11:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-06 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-07 07:48 pm (UTC)"You'll call me?"
"Repeatedly. I'll leave you filthy voicemails if you don't answer."
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-12 05:35 am (UTC)