Fic: Boston (19 & 20/?, WIP)
Feb. 11th, 2009 10:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eff_realityPremise: AU. Billy is a PhD. candidate in Cinema Studies at Suffolk University and Dom is a rent boy in Southie.
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Feedback: is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.
Summary: Billy and Dominic come home.
Note: So sorry for the delay. I'm making a valiant effort to get back on the weekly update schedule I rocked when I first started posting this.
Previously.
SCENE 19. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO'S FLAT - 1:34AM
Dominic feels horribly awkward, hovering in front of the fridge in his own kitchen like this. He scritches a hand messily over his scalp, needing something to do but not knowing what. He opens the fridge door and automatically reaches for a beer, then jerks his hand back to scritch again. He eyes the shelves, forcing himself to plan dinner for tomorrow. At the sound of a chipmunk giggle from down the hall, he slams the door shut.
Fuck.
All he wants is to bloody talk to someone, have someone help him sort things, specifically Orli, but Orli's too busy showing Elijah to his room. And Dominic's really not looking forward to listening to that in about five minutes. For a split second, he contemplates going back out, getting another drink, maybe even bringing a john home because fuck it, he can. But honestly, he's too distracted, too unnerved. And pissed at himself for being unnerved.
He fills a tall glass with tap water and drops into a chair at their little eating table. It's not until he's halfway done with it that Orlando appears, bracing himself on the archway.
"This is so weird, am I right?" he whispers, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't even think of Lij, you know? I don't really consider him a regular." He throws a sickeningly charming smile at Dominic. "Talk about fate."
Dominic wants to roll his eyes but settles for sliding his glass back and forth.
Orlando pushes off the archway. "What happened with the professor?" He grabs two beers from the fridge and shuts the door, leaning on it.
"Turned me down," Dominic shrugs.
"Fuckwit."
"Asked me to coffee." Dominic displays his hand, wiggling his fingers.
Orli grabs said fingers and lays Dominic's hand out on the table, palm-up. His eyes run over Billy's words and he smiles. "Hmm." He procures a bottle opener from his pocket and pops off the caps.
Dominic looks up at him, curling his hand inward protectively. "What?" Orli doesn't open his mouth, but there's a teasing glint in his eyes. He clinks the beer bottles together a few times, just to be playful. Dominic can feel the corners of his own mouth betraying him. "What?"
"Maybe he's being a gentleman. Maybe he wants to date you all proper-like." He tickles Dominic's chin with his cold fingers.
Dominic smacks him on the softer part of his stomach and protests, "Fuck off," but his smile is uncontrollable and his tone isn't anything less than excited.
Orli releases a triumphant laugh and reaches low for another tickle. "You want to date the Scottish film scholar!"
"S-s-stop, man!" Dominic rocks the wooden chair violently in an effort to fend him off. After some maneuvering, he catches Orlando in a headlock from his seat. "Go fuck the little American with the weird hair," he laughs, pushing Orli away by the back of his head.
"I'm on it, sir," Orlando laughs, stumbling gracelessly out of the room.
It takes almost half a minute for Dominic's smile to completely fade. After this exchange, he feels okay to down the rest of his water and make his way to his own bedroom--to throw on his headphones and crank the volume way, way up, no doubt.
But when he makes his way over the threshold, he finds himself too distracted to even hear the two voices coming through the wall. That spot, that spread of rug where he and Billy had their last time, is staring him in the face, demanding his attention. He hasn't really been able to enter his room over the last week without thinking about it. Every time he's come home, he's felt the need to relive that fantastic thing that happened. He doesn't want to call it a fuck, even in his head. But he really doesn't want to call what they did making love.
He wonders what it must have looked like from where he's standing now, Billy throwing him down and touching him to oblivion, his own legs bent back like he was a turned-over insect.
It's a little overwhelming, having that memory and the memory of tonight intertwining in his head.
He absently rubs his cheek against the collar of his worn leather jacket, remembering their goodbye. After a polite exchange of, "This was great," "I had a fantastic time," and "See you Thursday," Billy'd turned back halfway and reached out to finger the leather at his neck. His mouth quirked but there was still a twinge of concern in his voice: I don't think you can get away with this much longer.
Dominic carefully twists his way out of the jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. Then, he pulls the rolled up screening program out of his back pocket and throws it onto the desk beside it. He won't read Billy's bio again, at least not tonight. Maybe in a couple of weeks when they're really just friends and he's gotten over this shite. Or in a couple of weeks when they're out of each other's lives completely. Who knows?
He clears his throat and that sends him into a coughing fit, his first since around lunchtime. "Fucking hell," he moans under his breath before stepping out of his jeans.
He catches sight of the writing on his hand and glares at it, already nervous for Thursday. Predictions come rushing across the back of his eyes without his permission: images of him and Billy sitting in the cafe, the bottom half of Billy's face disappearing behind a tall white cup. Billy smiling, laughing. Billy asking him what he wants his life to be. Billy leaning across the table, into Dominic's space--
He presses his fingers into his eyelids and chides himself. "Stop." He can't allow himself to have these thoughts anymore.
It's all Orli's fucking fault, putting these ideas into his head with that "proper dating" shite. Dominic takes the briefest moment to indulge that possibility, the possibility that there's even the slightest hint of truth to Orli's joke. He rubs at his forehead, just above his eyebrows. He doesn't even know how he would navigate it, if it were possible.
Anyway, it's not. The last thing Dominic is, is daft. That was most certainly a rejection tonight. Wasn't it?
He extracts his journal from beneath his mattress and flops onto his bed, uncapping a pen with his teeth. He flips to the lone cigarette paper he's using as a bookmark and writes the date down. He doesn't want to get into anything too detailed or exploratory, especially not about the effect tonight's had on him, when there's still hope that it'll all fade by morning. Without really thinking, he jots down something about Billy's eyes (again), Billy's hands (again), and how everything between them has fundamentally shifted (...again).
He leaves the little blue book open for a few more moments, tapping the end of the pen against his bottom lip. Finally, he sets the ballpoint to the page again.
I'm terrified of what I could feel for him.
He stares at those words until they blur into fuzzy blue curlicues, then shifts his hand to the end of the page. In the margin, he writes a subtraction. After a brief struggle, he remembers what the beers on tap cost tonight, then takes that away from how much he spent overall, circling the difference.
*
SCENE 20. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - 2:12AM
The overwhelming feeling in Billy's gut when he closes the door behind him is guilt. He can't figure out why that should be, though. It's not as if he broke Dominic's heart tonight.
He lets out the start of a laugh as he throws his keys down on the table by the door.
This is complete and utter stupidity. He's not Dominic's ex, he's his former customer. In fact, Dominic's probably found someone else to take home, someone who'll do more and pay more than he ever could. He didn't ask Billy out of anything resembling desire, for God's sake. It was business. And Billy was convenient and, most of all, safe.
Frustrated, he nearly tears off his tweed jacket and tugs it messily onto a hanger. He lowers himself to his bed, not bothering with his jeans. He can't undress with his body thrumming through his clothes like it is.
Fuck, he wanted to go home with him. Wants to.
He closes his eyes and starts pulling the buttons of his shirt free with one hand. When the two halves separate, he shrugs out of them slowly, rolling his shoulders, then lets the shirt fall to the floor at his feet. He toes off his shoes and leaves them underneath the heap of wrinkled green fabric.
He can't believe he's going to do this again.
It's certainly not the first time he's brought himself off thinking of Dominic--far from it. He hasn't even bothered to keep track of how often he's needed to since the night they met. In all fairness, it's not always Dominic in his head when he does it. Sometimes it's nothing. Just a vague feeling of want, with intermittent sparks of danger and something else. But the catalyst is consistent.
Billy doesn't open his eyes as he lays back, knees bent, feet flat on the duvet. From the moment his hand starts its descent, it's a reluctant thing, impossible to enjoy. It was so innocuous before tonight, when Billy expected to never run into him again, even in spite of the one night they actually did. Now it's just confusing and awful, and he can't.
It's all by touch this time. He doesn't open his eyes once, alternating between a slow, barely there tug, and a quick, relentless one, a not quite pleasurable extension of his inner conflict. After tonight, he can't help but feel manipulated. It's literally Dominic's job to turn people on, to make them desire him. He wonders how much of it has been real and what parts have been carefully fabricated. The narrowing of Dominic's eyes, the movement of his tongue, the cant of his hip, the look of his smile and the sound of his laughter.
Billy's hand speeds up and he tenses. It doesn't matter. It all worked.
When he comes, it's no more than a stutter and a sigh, a need fulfilled. In a few minutes, he'll drift off carrying a different kind of guilt with him.
This can't happen again.
He wipes his hand absently on his jeans and thinks of the plan they made for Thursday. Dominic's good, but Billy's quite the actor himself.
NEXT
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Feedback: is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.
Summary: Billy and Dominic come home.
Note: So sorry for the delay. I'm making a valiant effort to get back on the weekly update schedule I rocked when I first started posting this.
Previously.
SCENE 19. - INT. DOMINIC AND ORLANDO'S FLAT - 1:34AM
Dominic feels horribly awkward, hovering in front of the fridge in his own kitchen like this. He scritches a hand messily over his scalp, needing something to do but not knowing what. He opens the fridge door and automatically reaches for a beer, then jerks his hand back to scritch again. He eyes the shelves, forcing himself to plan dinner for tomorrow. At the sound of a chipmunk giggle from down the hall, he slams the door shut.
Fuck.
All he wants is to bloody talk to someone, have someone help him sort things, specifically Orli, but Orli's too busy showing Elijah to his room. And Dominic's really not looking forward to listening to that in about five minutes. For a split second, he contemplates going back out, getting another drink, maybe even bringing a john home because fuck it, he can. But honestly, he's too distracted, too unnerved. And pissed at himself for being unnerved.
He fills a tall glass with tap water and drops into a chair at their little eating table. It's not until he's halfway done with it that Orlando appears, bracing himself on the archway.
"This is so weird, am I right?" he whispers, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't even think of Lij, you know? I don't really consider him a regular." He throws a sickeningly charming smile at Dominic. "Talk about fate."
Dominic wants to roll his eyes but settles for sliding his glass back and forth.
Orlando pushes off the archway. "What happened with the professor?" He grabs two beers from the fridge and shuts the door, leaning on it.
"Turned me down," Dominic shrugs.
"Fuckwit."
"Asked me to coffee." Dominic displays his hand, wiggling his fingers.
Orli grabs said fingers and lays Dominic's hand out on the table, palm-up. His eyes run over Billy's words and he smiles. "Hmm." He procures a bottle opener from his pocket and pops off the caps.
Dominic looks up at him, curling his hand inward protectively. "What?" Orli doesn't open his mouth, but there's a teasing glint in his eyes. He clinks the beer bottles together a few times, just to be playful. Dominic can feel the corners of his own mouth betraying him. "What?"
"Maybe he's being a gentleman. Maybe he wants to date you all proper-like." He tickles Dominic's chin with his cold fingers.
Dominic smacks him on the softer part of his stomach and protests, "Fuck off," but his smile is uncontrollable and his tone isn't anything less than excited.
Orli releases a triumphant laugh and reaches low for another tickle. "You want to date the Scottish film scholar!"
"S-s-stop, man!" Dominic rocks the wooden chair violently in an effort to fend him off. After some maneuvering, he catches Orlando in a headlock from his seat. "Go fuck the little American with the weird hair," he laughs, pushing Orli away by the back of his head.
"I'm on it, sir," Orlando laughs, stumbling gracelessly out of the room.
It takes almost half a minute for Dominic's smile to completely fade. After this exchange, he feels okay to down the rest of his water and make his way to his own bedroom--to throw on his headphones and crank the volume way, way up, no doubt.
But when he makes his way over the threshold, he finds himself too distracted to even hear the two voices coming through the wall. That spot, that spread of rug where he and Billy had their last time, is staring him in the face, demanding his attention. He hasn't really been able to enter his room over the last week without thinking about it. Every time he's come home, he's felt the need to relive that fantastic thing that happened. He doesn't want to call it a fuck, even in his head. But he really doesn't want to call what they did making love.
He wonders what it must have looked like from where he's standing now, Billy throwing him down and touching him to oblivion, his own legs bent back like he was a turned-over insect.
It's a little overwhelming, having that memory and the memory of tonight intertwining in his head.
He absently rubs his cheek against the collar of his worn leather jacket, remembering their goodbye. After a polite exchange of, "This was great," "I had a fantastic time," and "See you Thursday," Billy'd turned back halfway and reached out to finger the leather at his neck. His mouth quirked but there was still a twinge of concern in his voice: I don't think you can get away with this much longer.
Dominic carefully twists his way out of the jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. Then, he pulls the rolled up screening program out of his back pocket and throws it onto the desk beside it. He won't read Billy's bio again, at least not tonight. Maybe in a couple of weeks when they're really just friends and he's gotten over this shite. Or in a couple of weeks when they're out of each other's lives completely. Who knows?
He clears his throat and that sends him into a coughing fit, his first since around lunchtime. "Fucking hell," he moans under his breath before stepping out of his jeans.
He catches sight of the writing on his hand and glares at it, already nervous for Thursday. Predictions come rushing across the back of his eyes without his permission: images of him and Billy sitting in the cafe, the bottom half of Billy's face disappearing behind a tall white cup. Billy smiling, laughing. Billy asking him what he wants his life to be. Billy leaning across the table, into Dominic's space--
He presses his fingers into his eyelids and chides himself. "Stop." He can't allow himself to have these thoughts anymore.
It's all Orli's fucking fault, putting these ideas into his head with that "proper dating" shite. Dominic takes the briefest moment to indulge that possibility, the possibility that there's even the slightest hint of truth to Orli's joke. He rubs at his forehead, just above his eyebrows. He doesn't even know how he would navigate it, if it were possible.
Anyway, it's not. The last thing Dominic is, is daft. That was most certainly a rejection tonight. Wasn't it?
He extracts his journal from beneath his mattress and flops onto his bed, uncapping a pen with his teeth. He flips to the lone cigarette paper he's using as a bookmark and writes the date down. He doesn't want to get into anything too detailed or exploratory, especially not about the effect tonight's had on him, when there's still hope that it'll all fade by morning. Without really thinking, he jots down something about Billy's eyes (again), Billy's hands (again), and how everything between them has fundamentally shifted (...again).
He leaves the little blue book open for a few more moments, tapping the end of the pen against his bottom lip. Finally, he sets the ballpoint to the page again.
I'm terrified of what I could feel for him.
He stares at those words until they blur into fuzzy blue curlicues, then shifts his hand to the end of the page. In the margin, he writes a subtraction. After a brief struggle, he remembers what the beers on tap cost tonight, then takes that away from how much he spent overall, circling the difference.
*
SCENE 20. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - 2:12AM
The overwhelming feeling in Billy's gut when he closes the door behind him is guilt. He can't figure out why that should be, though. It's not as if he broke Dominic's heart tonight.
He lets out the start of a laugh as he throws his keys down on the table by the door.
This is complete and utter stupidity. He's not Dominic's ex, he's his former customer. In fact, Dominic's probably found someone else to take home, someone who'll do more and pay more than he ever could. He didn't ask Billy out of anything resembling desire, for God's sake. It was business. And Billy was convenient and, most of all, safe.
Frustrated, he nearly tears off his tweed jacket and tugs it messily onto a hanger. He lowers himself to his bed, not bothering with his jeans. He can't undress with his body thrumming through his clothes like it is.
Fuck, he wanted to go home with him. Wants to.
He closes his eyes and starts pulling the buttons of his shirt free with one hand. When the two halves separate, he shrugs out of them slowly, rolling his shoulders, then lets the shirt fall to the floor at his feet. He toes off his shoes and leaves them underneath the heap of wrinkled green fabric.
He can't believe he's going to do this again.
It's certainly not the first time he's brought himself off thinking of Dominic--far from it. He hasn't even bothered to keep track of how often he's needed to since the night they met. In all fairness, it's not always Dominic in his head when he does it. Sometimes it's nothing. Just a vague feeling of want, with intermittent sparks of danger and something else. But the catalyst is consistent.
Billy doesn't open his eyes as he lays back, knees bent, feet flat on the duvet. From the moment his hand starts its descent, it's a reluctant thing, impossible to enjoy. It was so innocuous before tonight, when Billy expected to never run into him again, even in spite of the one night they actually did. Now it's just confusing and awful, and he can't.
It's all by touch this time. He doesn't open his eyes once, alternating between a slow, barely there tug, and a quick, relentless one, a not quite pleasurable extension of his inner conflict. After tonight, he can't help but feel manipulated. It's literally Dominic's job to turn people on, to make them desire him. He wonders how much of it has been real and what parts have been carefully fabricated. The narrowing of Dominic's eyes, the movement of his tongue, the cant of his hip, the look of his smile and the sound of his laughter.
Billy's hand speeds up and he tenses. It doesn't matter. It all worked.
When he comes, it's no more than a stutter and a sigh, a need fulfilled. In a few minutes, he'll drift off carrying a different kind of guilt with him.
This can't happen again.
He wipes his hand absently on his jeans and thinks of the plan they made for Thursday. Dominic's good, but Billy's quite the actor himself.
NEXT
