Boston (26 & 27, WIP)
Aug. 27th, 2009 11:12 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 faces his fantasy and Dominic faces his reality.
Previously.
SCENE 26. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - THAT NIGHT
He hasn't been through the door five minutes before he's fumbling with his belt. The long train ride home and all the tramping through the rain to and from stations didn't manage to help the tingling in his body subside; if anything, it's somehow gotten worse since he left Dominic's. Before it'd just been at the main points of contact--where Dom's side had been pressed all along his own, where his hair had tickled the bare skin of his neck, where his fingers had brushed the seam of his jeans--but now it's expanded to include all the areas Dominic neglected, the ones for which the Dominic in Billy's head is now atoning.
It's more awkward than it's been physically, lately, with his thick, rain-heavy coat barely undone and his damp denims clinging stubbornly to his thighs, but this time Billy has a mad urgency on his side, and it makes all the difference. His fingers are cold and wet, yes, even a bit pruned as they wrap around his cock, and his nose is running a bit, whether from Dom or the weather, he's not sure. His sniffles echo through the hallway and bounce back at him.
Billy sucks in his breath and holds it, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to be back here, not yet. Behind his eyelids, he's still at Dominic's place, on his couch, laying there like this afternoon, only awake and on his back.
There's no continuity, no narrative or banter even, just flashes, sensations, and sometimes a whisper. Dominic slithers up Billy's body/Dominic sucks on his neck/Billy fists the hair at the back of his head/the rain gets louder. Dominic braces himself on both hands, pulling the skin at Billy's shoulder between his teeth.
The fantasy is soft-focus and languid, a sharp contrast to the movement of Billy's hand. The air expels from his mouth in a rush and he sucks it back into his lungs almost immediately, holding it there except for the nearly inaudible staccato pants that go high in the back of his throat. His left hand scratches at the wet, unyielding denim above his knee.
In his head, he's reaching between their bodies with both hands to unbuckle Dominic's belt, lowering his fly tooth by tooth, and feeling for that familiar velvet skin with a certainty he knows wouldn't be there if this very scenario were happening right now, in his hallway. At the first touch, Dominic exhales heavily and smiles. He licks his lips and tosses the hair out of his eyes, exactly as he did that first time. How's that? Billy teases, and Dominic moans in reply. They finally come nose to nose as Billy starts to lazily bring him off.
It's worse, knowing what it actually feels like, to have Dom's breath against his lips, his eyes so close and penetrating. Billy's not sure if he'll ever get the smell and taste of him out of his sense memory.
Dominic starts to push into Billy's hand shamelessly, his hips fluid, feline, and gorgeous. He nuzzles Billy's cheek and groans into his skin, pleading in a breathy whisper, Billy, fuck me. Please, I need you.
There's a jump cut here, as always, to skip out on the boring, necessary stuff, like Billy losing his own pants, et cetera. So the image cuts from them breathing into each other to Dominic straddling Billy, raised on his knees just enough so Billy can curl two fingers into him from underneath. Dominic's hands splay on Billy's chest as he rocks ever so slightly back onto his haunches, inhaling on the way back. His eyes are dark and dilated when they're open, fluttering when Billy pushes deeper. Now, he demands, leaning forward onto his hands, and there's another jump cut, and then they are, Billy's rolling his hips up into him and Dominic's pulling at his chest hair distractedly. Billy wraps his fingers around Dominic's waist and pulls him down, making them both gasp--Fucking Christ, that's good, that's so good, so Billy does it again, and again, and again. Dominic licks his lips, closes his eyes, and palms his own chest, letting Billy dictate the rhythm for them both. Billy lets one hand creep up to finger a deep pinkish brown nipple, his other hand going tighter and unrelenting around Dom's waist. Mmnnfuck. Dominic grasps Billy's fingers and pulls the longest three up to his mouth, pushing them past his lips and curling his tongue around the tips.
This is where the image stutters and Billy's hand follows suit, and the frustration intervenes. Billy bites his lip, sliding down the wall as he tries desperately to hold onto the fantasy, or at least his orgasm. He can visualize Dominic, but everytime he tries to touch him, the image flickers or dissolves. It doesn't take long for him to ditch it out of desperation, opting to just focus on the feel of his palm and his fingers and the wetness and the friction, the frantic, filthy sound of it.
His mind is completely blank when he tenses up and comes, and it's, well, anticlimactic. He feels disappointed, more in himself than in the release. He wipes his hand haphazardly on his already sopping jeans and buttons his fly with deft fingers, as if doing so quickly with his eyes averted will erase the last five minutes from his memory.
*
SCENE 27. - INT./EXT. THE BRATTLE THEATER - WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
When the screen cuts to black and the credits roll, Dominic literally flinches in his seat. He'd settled so deeply into the world of La mala educación, with its beautifully unfamiliar words and oversaturated colors, that seeing it end is like emerging from under water. He looks around, surprised to find himself in a theater, albeit a nearly empty one, save a few seniors and students. When he pushes through the exit door at the back, he's left even more disoriented by the onslaught of flourescent light and the scent of artificial butter. He clings stubbornly to the music, the images, the people he's just left behind, but they're already beginning to crumble and fall out of his head like parts of an elaborate dream.
As he's assaulted a few short minutes later by the loud, erratic movement of Harvard Square, Dominic can't help but smile and welcome the brisk air. Normally he dreads this time of year, where the cold seems to hit you right in the marrow, but today it feels fantastic, mostly because he can finally breathe it in properly. Plus he feels as if he's just taken part in something romantic, religious even, and he's tempted to call Billy to thank him for the experience.
Dominic manages to keep his itching fingers from his mobile, but the trade-off is that he allows himself to indulge in some Billy-related giddiness. He reflects on the weekend--the soup, the movies, just Billy filling the space around him with his energy and light and scent. The more dangerous Dominic tells himself all this is, letting himself feel these things, the more he can't help but fling himself into it. He'd never admit to anyone, not even Orli, that he's found himself wandering into cafes, seeking nothing but the overwhelming coffee smell that seeps through Billy's skin and clings to his sweaters. Even though Dominic will never drink the vile shite, he'll get drunk off of that aroma to his content.
He tries to remember their first meeting, so he can contrast it with this weekend, chart their progress or regress, he can never decide which. But that memory, like the film he's just seen, has begun to fall away in the face of the present. He can remember certain feelings it gave him very clearly, but he can't recapture them, and he'll never be able to see Billy the way he did that first time.
When he turns onto the main stretch of the square, he finally realizes just how crowded the streets are, with holiday shoppers, tourists, and students with suitcases preparing to leave. He decides he'll pop into the big newsstand for more tobacco, and almost stops in the middle of the street when his eyes catch who's standing just to the side of the door, having a smoke himself. No name comes to mind, but the face and stature are unmistakeable: this is a former client. Not a regular, but someone Dominic's seen more than once, multiple times in a brief period, if he remembers correctly. His profession isn't the best for being forgetful of clients--hence the blue journal--but how can be be expected to remember everyone when it's been so fucking long and there've been so many?
Dominic averts his eyes and doesn't falter one bit, walking resolutely toward the door like he hasn't even registered the guy's standing there. They both inhale, though, as he passes, and it's obvious that they've both recognized each other. Ensconsed in the warmth of the shop, Dominic smiles, wondering if Billy has this kind of dilemma with former students seeking recommendations. He turns to the cashier, grin intact, and asks for a pack of tobacco from the coveted area behind the counter. He fumbles with his wallet as the bells on the door chime again but doesn't give in to the urge to look up at the new intruder. He doesn't have to, anyway; that presence, the way he takes his time passing Dominic, is more than enough.
It isn't long before Dominic's annoyed. He would never expect to see this guy here, especially not in the middle of the day, and so clearly cruising him. Can it be called "cruising" when there's money involved? he thinks bitterly. Anyway, he's not on the job, so what does he care?
He takes his change--"Thank you"--and sends an additional thanks up to God for putting a second door in this place, so he can bypass this bastard without a second look. He fears hearing a call to him from behind, but it doesn't come, and he walks back out into the cold feeling cleaner than before. It's the first time he's dodged a potential customer when there's been no danger to his own life. And he doesn't care.
NEXT
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Feedback: is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.
Summary: Billy faces his fantasy and Dominic faces his reality.
Previously.
SCENE 26. - INT. BILLY'S FLAT - THAT NIGHT
He hasn't been through the door five minutes before he's fumbling with his belt. The long train ride home and all the tramping through the rain to and from stations didn't manage to help the tingling in his body subside; if anything, it's somehow gotten worse since he left Dominic's. Before it'd just been at the main points of contact--where Dom's side had been pressed all along his own, where his hair had tickled the bare skin of his neck, where his fingers had brushed the seam of his jeans--but now it's expanded to include all the areas Dominic neglected, the ones for which the Dominic in Billy's head is now atoning.
It's more awkward than it's been physically, lately, with his thick, rain-heavy coat barely undone and his damp denims clinging stubbornly to his thighs, but this time Billy has a mad urgency on his side, and it makes all the difference. His fingers are cold and wet, yes, even a bit pruned as they wrap around his cock, and his nose is running a bit, whether from Dom or the weather, he's not sure. His sniffles echo through the hallway and bounce back at him.
Billy sucks in his breath and holds it, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to be back here, not yet. Behind his eyelids, he's still at Dominic's place, on his couch, laying there like this afternoon, only awake and on his back.
There's no continuity, no narrative or banter even, just flashes, sensations, and sometimes a whisper. Dominic slithers up Billy's body/Dominic sucks on his neck/Billy fists the hair at the back of his head/the rain gets louder. Dominic braces himself on both hands, pulling the skin at Billy's shoulder between his teeth.
The fantasy is soft-focus and languid, a sharp contrast to the movement of Billy's hand. The air expels from his mouth in a rush and he sucks it back into his lungs almost immediately, holding it there except for the nearly inaudible staccato pants that go high in the back of his throat. His left hand scratches at the wet, unyielding denim above his knee.
In his head, he's reaching between their bodies with both hands to unbuckle Dominic's belt, lowering his fly tooth by tooth, and feeling for that familiar velvet skin with a certainty he knows wouldn't be there if this very scenario were happening right now, in his hallway. At the first touch, Dominic exhales heavily and smiles. He licks his lips and tosses the hair out of his eyes, exactly as he did that first time. How's that? Billy teases, and Dominic moans in reply. They finally come nose to nose as Billy starts to lazily bring him off.
It's worse, knowing what it actually feels like, to have Dom's breath against his lips, his eyes so close and penetrating. Billy's not sure if he'll ever get the smell and taste of him out of his sense memory.
Dominic starts to push into Billy's hand shamelessly, his hips fluid, feline, and gorgeous. He nuzzles Billy's cheek and groans into his skin, pleading in a breathy whisper, Billy, fuck me. Please, I need you.
There's a jump cut here, as always, to skip out on the boring, necessary stuff, like Billy losing his own pants, et cetera. So the image cuts from them breathing into each other to Dominic straddling Billy, raised on his knees just enough so Billy can curl two fingers into him from underneath. Dominic's hands splay on Billy's chest as he rocks ever so slightly back onto his haunches, inhaling on the way back. His eyes are dark and dilated when they're open, fluttering when Billy pushes deeper. Now, he demands, leaning forward onto his hands, and there's another jump cut, and then they are, Billy's rolling his hips up into him and Dominic's pulling at his chest hair distractedly. Billy wraps his fingers around Dominic's waist and pulls him down, making them both gasp--Fucking Christ, that's good, that's so good, so Billy does it again, and again, and again. Dominic licks his lips, closes his eyes, and palms his own chest, letting Billy dictate the rhythm for them both. Billy lets one hand creep up to finger a deep pinkish brown nipple, his other hand going tighter and unrelenting around Dom's waist. Mmnnfuck. Dominic grasps Billy's fingers and pulls the longest three up to his mouth, pushing them past his lips and curling his tongue around the tips.
This is where the image stutters and Billy's hand follows suit, and the frustration intervenes. Billy bites his lip, sliding down the wall as he tries desperately to hold onto the fantasy, or at least his orgasm. He can visualize Dominic, but everytime he tries to touch him, the image flickers or dissolves. It doesn't take long for him to ditch it out of desperation, opting to just focus on the feel of his palm and his fingers and the wetness and the friction, the frantic, filthy sound of it.
His mind is completely blank when he tenses up and comes, and it's, well, anticlimactic. He feels disappointed, more in himself than in the release. He wipes his hand haphazardly on his already sopping jeans and buttons his fly with deft fingers, as if doing so quickly with his eyes averted will erase the last five minutes from his memory.
*
SCENE 27. - INT./EXT. THE BRATTLE THEATER - WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
When the screen cuts to black and the credits roll, Dominic literally flinches in his seat. He'd settled so deeply into the world of La mala educación, with its beautifully unfamiliar words and oversaturated colors, that seeing it end is like emerging from under water. He looks around, surprised to find himself in a theater, albeit a nearly empty one, save a few seniors and students. When he pushes through the exit door at the back, he's left even more disoriented by the onslaught of flourescent light and the scent of artificial butter. He clings stubbornly to the music, the images, the people he's just left behind, but they're already beginning to crumble and fall out of his head like parts of an elaborate dream.
As he's assaulted a few short minutes later by the loud, erratic movement of Harvard Square, Dominic can't help but smile and welcome the brisk air. Normally he dreads this time of year, where the cold seems to hit you right in the marrow, but today it feels fantastic, mostly because he can finally breathe it in properly. Plus he feels as if he's just taken part in something romantic, religious even, and he's tempted to call Billy to thank him for the experience.
Dominic manages to keep his itching fingers from his mobile, but the trade-off is that he allows himself to indulge in some Billy-related giddiness. He reflects on the weekend--the soup, the movies, just Billy filling the space around him with his energy and light and scent. The more dangerous Dominic tells himself all this is, letting himself feel these things, the more he can't help but fling himself into it. He'd never admit to anyone, not even Orli, that he's found himself wandering into cafes, seeking nothing but the overwhelming coffee smell that seeps through Billy's skin and clings to his sweaters. Even though Dominic will never drink the vile shite, he'll get drunk off of that aroma to his content.
He tries to remember their first meeting, so he can contrast it with this weekend, chart their progress or regress, he can never decide which. But that memory, like the film he's just seen, has begun to fall away in the face of the present. He can remember certain feelings it gave him very clearly, but he can't recapture them, and he'll never be able to see Billy the way he did that first time.
When he turns onto the main stretch of the square, he finally realizes just how crowded the streets are, with holiday shoppers, tourists, and students with suitcases preparing to leave. He decides he'll pop into the big newsstand for more tobacco, and almost stops in the middle of the street when his eyes catch who's standing just to the side of the door, having a smoke himself. No name comes to mind, but the face and stature are unmistakeable: this is a former client. Not a regular, but someone Dominic's seen more than once, multiple times in a brief period, if he remembers correctly. His profession isn't the best for being forgetful of clients--hence the blue journal--but how can be be expected to remember everyone when it's been so fucking long and there've been so many?
Dominic averts his eyes and doesn't falter one bit, walking resolutely toward the door like he hasn't even registered the guy's standing there. They both inhale, though, as he passes, and it's obvious that they've both recognized each other. Ensconsed in the warmth of the shop, Dominic smiles, wondering if Billy has this kind of dilemma with former students seeking recommendations. He turns to the cashier, grin intact, and asks for a pack of tobacco from the coveted area behind the counter. He fumbles with his wallet as the bells on the door chime again but doesn't give in to the urge to look up at the new intruder. He doesn't have to, anyway; that presence, the way he takes his time passing Dominic, is more than enough.
It isn't long before Dominic's annoyed. He would never expect to see this guy here, especially not in the middle of the day, and so clearly cruising him. Can it be called "cruising" when there's money involved? he thinks bitterly. Anyway, he's not on the job, so what does he care?
He takes his change--"Thank you"--and sends an additional thanks up to God for putting a second door in this place, so he can bypass this bastard without a second look. He fears hearing a call to him from behind, but it doesn't come, and he walks back out into the cold feeling cleaner than before. It's the first time he's dodged a potential customer when there's been no danger to his own life. And he doesn't care.
NEXT
