Fic: Reveal (3/3)
May. 21st, 2008 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eff_realityTitle: Reveal
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: monaboyd
Summary: Billy overthinks, Dom flirts like a shameless hussy, and both turn to scotch for assistance.
Feedback: is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.
Note: Big love to all who have commented on and/or enjoyed this story. I had trouble ending it because I had so much fun writing it. Alas, here it is. Enjoy!
Part One
Part Two
Billy's first thought when he wakes up is, Thank God for whiskey. It's a thought he's had quite often, but it's typically not reserved for the morning hours. No. Thank God for whiskey is a decidedly nighttime thought. Its morning counterpart is, Goddamn fucking whiskey, usually uttered through the throb of a massive headache.
But on this particular morning, headache and all, it's Thank God for whiskey, because without it, there's no way Billy would have slept a wink the night before.
As he rises from the bed, his marathon runner of a brain rises too. It becomes acutely aware of the change in the air of Billy's home that comes with the presence of another. As Billy lumbers past Dom's carry-on in the hallway, the questions hit him all at once in a collage of confusion: Why is he here? What did he mean last night? What exactly constitutes a leap?
He distracts himself by making breakfast. But just as he's cracking eggs into a bowl, the Source of All Things Confusing pads into the kitchen in an undershirt and a pair of Billy's boxers.
"Well good morning, Mrs. Monaghan." Dom yawns and musses the thick blonde hair at the side of his head.
Billy's voice takes on a booming (if still a bit sleepy) quality. "If you think I'm playing housewife to the likes of you, you're sadly mistaken, lad." He shakes the spatula in Dom's direction to punctuate the warning but keeps his eyes on the pan in front of him. They close involuntarily when he feels Dom wrap his arms around his waist. Dom rests his head between his shoulder blades and snores loudly as if he's fallen back asleep. Billy lets out a little laugh and his heart calms with it. "I'm surprised you're up." He pulls out three more eggs to add to the mix.
"You're a loud bastard in the morning," Dom mutters into his back. "Reveal Number One of the day."
Billy flicks water at the pan to make sure it's ready. It sizzles. "You're a smelly bastard in the morning. Reveal Number Two."
Dom pulls back with a grin, allowing Billy to work at the stove. "Aw. I thought you liked the smell of my man flesh in the morning." He busies himself doodling on the message board on the fridge.
"Nope," Billy says brightly. He doesn't really have the patience for banter. He's too busy silently convincing himself that this impromptu visit is nothing to be nervous about. "Onions?" he asks, lining up add-ins for Dom's omelet on a cutting board.
"Nope," Dom answers in perfect mimicry of Billy. "Can't have my breath all Stinky McStinkerson if we're gonna be making out on the sofa all afternoon."
Fuck, Billy thinks. "Ha-ha," he says.
Dom caps the marker and mounts it back on the fridge, yawning all the way over to a stool at the kitchen island. Billy hears his palms drumming against the granite.
"Out of eggs," he says to fill the silence as he turns and puts Dom's plate in front of him.
"Been making a lot of hangover food this week, have you?" Dom rests his chin on the heel of his hand, waiting for Billy to join him.
"Yeah," Billy admits quietly as he slouches onto the stool just right of across from him.
Dom's expression instantly goes from amused to concerned, but he doesn't push. He takes a couple of bites, looking at the fridge for a few moments as he chews.
Billy examines his sleep-deprived face, taking stock of any and all minor physical changes that have taken place since the last time they saw each other. "So what's in store for today?" he takes a big bite of his omelet (without onions) and smiles around it as Dom turns his eyes back to him.
"Shopping, I thought." Dom glances down at his lap. "Much as I enjoy the feel of your pants against my bits, I should probably get some of my own."
How long are you staying? Billy thinks. "Why didn't you bring anything?" he says.
Dom takes a big bite and sets his fork down with a resounding clink, signaling that although his omelet's only half gone, he's done with it. He waits until he's finished swallowing before he speaks. "Wasn't thinking." He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Wanted to get to you fast."
Billy's heart is thudding but he manages a slow smile. "Reveal Number Three?"
"Nope." Dom walks around to take care of his plate. "Reveal Number Three is on the fridge." Before Billy can turn to look, Dom's kissing the spot right in front of his ear, his left hand tangled in the hair at the back of his head. "I need a shower."
"Okay, Stinky McStinkerson." Billy waits until he hears the bathroom door close. Then, he turns to read the message board.
Boyd:
I could marry you
looking the way you do
in the morning.
Billy doesn't move a muscle for three whole minutes, and his omelet goes cold.
*
They've been out shopping for about an hour, and Billy's almost forgotten about the fridge reveal. It's not that its impact has weakened at all. No. It's that Dom's been acting, well, too normal. Not that Billy expects him to duck his head and blush and suggest a trip to the jeweler's. But he doesn't expect him to go on acting like he hadn't almost proposed to him in dry-erase marker that morning.
"Ooh rhinestones." Dom picks up a pair of jeans and fingers the cuffs.
Under different circumstances--say, if Dom's trip to Scotland had taken place just a couple of months before--Billy wouldn't have thought twice about it. If Dom's trip had taken place before they spent several weeks confessing things both ridiculous and world-shifting to each other, Billy wouldn't even be having this conversation with himself.
Dom moves the bottom of the leg back and forth so the rhinestones glint under the department store lighting. "I think I may be entering a glam rock phase."
Dom is a flirt. Billy knows this much is true. The sky is blue and Dom is a fucking flirt. Especially where Billy is concerned. To be fair, the fridge reveal can't even be considered Dom's first proposal, maybe not even his fortieth. In the time that they've known each other, Dom has done everything short of humping Billy's leg to express his affection. So when Dom turns to him with a smirk and drawls--
"You'd fuck me in these, wouldn't you Bill?"
--Billy shrugs and thinks Same shite, different day. Dom can't be counted on for clarity, even in person. Maybe none of this has meant anything.
But when Dom takes a tentative step closer and locks eyes with Billy, sounding too serious as he asks, "Do you mind if I go try them on?," Billy smiles, shakes his head, and feels hopeful.
*
That night, Billy suggests Dom join him for dinner and drinks with a few of his friends, one of whom is leaving for Africa the next day. Dom politely refuses, and then impolitely convinces Billy to blow them off and stay in drinking with him all night. At first, Billy compromises, assuring Dom he'll wait until after dinner to meet up with them and then stay out for just one drink (he promises repeatedly). But when he descends the staircase in charcoal dress pants, buttoning the cuffs of a light green dress shirt, Dom's sitting on the couch in his new rhinestone jeans pouting, and Billy sighs.
Dom falls onto his side across the cushions, curled up in a pathetic fetal position, eyes wide and pleading.
Billy unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves as he makes his way over to the couch, flopping down with another sigh.
Dom sits up, eyes wider.
"Go get the scotch, then."
Dom does a victory dance all the way to the kitchen.
*
"...Did you really throw up in her bra?"
"YES! Yes. Indeed I did." Dom is sitting upside down on the sofa, knees bent over the back. The blood is quickly rushing to his head, his Charlie hair hanging almost to the floor. "I bought her a Victoria's Secret gift card. Thought it was the least I could do."
Billy smiles, looking down at him from his upright position. "You look a bit like a troll right now." He downs the rest of his second tumbler of scotch and sets it on the coffee table too loudly.
Dom struggles clumsily to a proper sitting position. His mouth hangs open in protest, his hair still sticking up despite gravity. "You mean like a troll-troll?" His eyes glitter in the TV light. They'd flipped through the channels before settling on a movie station--just for background noise.
"No, not a troll-troll. Like a wee little troll doll-troll. You know? Like a little troll doll with red hair sticking up from its head and a wee gem in its bellybutton." He pokes Dom there, and he squeals. Billy watches him fall limp against the back of the couch, giggling softly. "You're fuckin' pissed already."
"Nooooo."
"Yeah, you are. You're fuckin' pissed. You little fuckin' Yank. What happened to your resolve? What happened to your honor?"
"Lost it when I was fourteen," Dom sighs. "You need more, then." He tops Billy off, then resumes his lazy position, his eyes staring at the screen at half-mast. "The fuck are we watching?"
"Cool Hand Luke." Billy takes a big loud gulp. "I love this film."
"Fell-um," Dom imitates, then giggles.
Billy's quickly relaxing eyes are focused on the screen. "I've got a bit of a thing for Paul Newman."
Dom gasps, mock-scandalized. "Is that a reveal? Why Billy Boyd. What will the heterosexuals say?"
"The heterosexuals aren't immune to Paul's charms, either. They've all got a bit of a thing for him. Just ask Robert Redford."
Dom gasps again. "No. I'll never be able to watch Butch Cassidy the same way again."
Billy smiles, but he's obviously distracted.
Dom focuses his own attention on the screen, where Paul is wearily working in the fields, shackles around his ankles.
'Takin' it off, Boss,' he declares, moving to take off the top of his prison uniform.
His body is lean and muscled, but not necessarily impressive. "...So what is it about Paul Newman, then?"
"His eyes."
They glitter bright, hard blue under the oppressive sun.
Billy lifts his glass to his mouth, taking a slow sip. "Brilliant actor, as well."
They watch the rest of the scene play out in silence, and Dom comes to an instant agreement with Billy's assessment. "Bill?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I make a request?" Dom turns to face him.
"What kind of a request?"
"A reveal request."
Billy pretends to consider this. "I don't know. I think it destroys the integrity of the game. We wouldn't be playing Reveal anymore--we'd just be playing plain old Truth or Dare, only without the Dare. And that's just not fair. As you said, the Reveal species is nearly extinct, whereas people play Truth all the time. At slumber parties and such--"
Dom laughs in exasperation, shoving his face into a couch cushion. "Bill-eeeeeeee."
"What-eeee?" Billy finishes his third scotch and plunks the glass back down on the table, turning to give Dom his full attention. "Yeah, alright. Make your request, you high maintenance bugger."
Dom looks apprehensive. He fingers the rhinestones at the bottom of his jeans. "Why, uh. Why have you been drinking so much this week?"
Billy feels as if he's just fallen off a cliff. "I don't know," he says. It isn't exactly a lie. He leans his head against the back of the couch, looking Dom straight in the eye. His voice is intense and quiet. "Why didn't you tell me you were awake?"
Dom is completely and utterly still.
Billy stands quickly. Hm. That was irrationally bold. He mumbles something about getting more scotch as he all but runs to the kitchen, even though the bottle on the table is still half-full.
*
When Billy crosses the threshold, Dom's message board proposal is staring him in the face. He'd decided not to erase it earlier because he thought that doing so might hurt Dom's feelings in some way. Which is just silly. What if he needs to use his message board? Make a list for grocery shopping to make his uninvited guest feel more at home for the yet-to-be determined duration of his stay?
He moves to erase it, rolling the end of his sleeve down and urging it over the heel of his hand. He stops short at the sound of Dom padding barefoot across the linoleum. He turns, back to the fridge.
Dom's whole body is thrumming with alcohol and energy.
Billy glances at the back door, contemplating a quick escape. Then reminds himself that he's nearing 40 and is therefore the most ridiculous man who's ever lived. He can feel Dom's dry-erase scrawl emanating its horrible power from behind his head. He shrugs helplessly. "'M sorry, Dom. I don't know what--"
Dom's mouth is on his, firm, knocking the crown of his head against the sharp edge of the message board. And just like that, Billy stops thinking.
Two long-fingered hands move to where the impact was made, cradling the sore spot as Dom pulls back from Billy's mouth almost too gently.
"Ehm."
Dom's thumbs are firm at his temples. "I have a reveal."
Billy doesn't move.
"I've had less than honorable intentions since I got here." Dom lets his forehead fall against Billy's and looks down at their feet. "You've been immune to the patented Monaghan flirting all day. So I thought I'd ply you with scotch and bat my eyes at you. But that didn't work either." He looks up. "So." He shuffles forward a little so they are truly sharing each other's space and kisses Billy again, this time with more care. "Aren't you tired of playing this shite?" he whispers into his open mouth.
Billy shakes his head ever so slightly. He doesn't want to breathe, let alone speak.
Dom pulls back with a half-smile. "Alright." He reaches above Billy's head. "You only get one more, though."
"Better make it good, then." Billy's voice cracks a little.
Now armed with the dreaded dry-erase marker, Dom takes Billy's hand up from where it hangs idly at his side.
Billy is not surprised, but his heart still speeds up of its own accord as the words "I love you" are scrawled across his knuckles. "I know," he says, still wanting to be sure. Needing to be sure.
Dom rolls his eyes, making a big production of taking up the other hand. He writes slowly and deliberately: "Not like that."
"Jesus," Billy exhales, lifting the I-love-you hand to his face and smiling into it.
"Not really the response I was aiming for, no." Dom strokes the hair at the side of Billy's head to coax him from hiding.
"No, Dom, it's. I'm." Billy laughs. "I'm fucking terrified."
Dom nods in nervous agreement. He takes a deep breath, putting the marker in its rightful place and lacing their hands together at their sides. "So. Are we leaping?"
Billy leans in. "Let's hope neither of us vomits."
Dom releases a joyful laugh and Billy catches it in his mouth.
***
END
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: monaboyd
Summary: Billy overthinks, Dom flirts like a shameless hussy, and both turn to scotch for assistance.
Feedback: is my anti-drug. Help keep me off the pipe.
Note: Big love to all who have commented on and/or enjoyed this story. I had trouble ending it because I had so much fun writing it. Alas, here it is. Enjoy!
Part One
Part Two
Billy's first thought when he wakes up is, Thank God for whiskey. It's a thought he's had quite often, but it's typically not reserved for the morning hours. No. Thank God for whiskey is a decidedly nighttime thought. Its morning counterpart is, Goddamn fucking whiskey, usually uttered through the throb of a massive headache.
But on this particular morning, headache and all, it's Thank God for whiskey, because without it, there's no way Billy would have slept a wink the night before.
As he rises from the bed, his marathon runner of a brain rises too. It becomes acutely aware of the change in the air of Billy's home that comes with the presence of another. As Billy lumbers past Dom's carry-on in the hallway, the questions hit him all at once in a collage of confusion: Why is he here? What did he mean last night? What exactly constitutes a leap?
He distracts himself by making breakfast. But just as he's cracking eggs into a bowl, the Source of All Things Confusing pads into the kitchen in an undershirt and a pair of Billy's boxers.
"Well good morning, Mrs. Monaghan." Dom yawns and musses the thick blonde hair at the side of his head.
Billy's voice takes on a booming (if still a bit sleepy) quality. "If you think I'm playing housewife to the likes of you, you're sadly mistaken, lad." He shakes the spatula in Dom's direction to punctuate the warning but keeps his eyes on the pan in front of him. They close involuntarily when he feels Dom wrap his arms around his waist. Dom rests his head between his shoulder blades and snores loudly as if he's fallen back asleep. Billy lets out a little laugh and his heart calms with it. "I'm surprised you're up." He pulls out three more eggs to add to the mix.
"You're a loud bastard in the morning," Dom mutters into his back. "Reveal Number One of the day."
Billy flicks water at the pan to make sure it's ready. It sizzles. "You're a smelly bastard in the morning. Reveal Number Two."
Dom pulls back with a grin, allowing Billy to work at the stove. "Aw. I thought you liked the smell of my man flesh in the morning." He busies himself doodling on the message board on the fridge.
"Nope," Billy says brightly. He doesn't really have the patience for banter. He's too busy silently convincing himself that this impromptu visit is nothing to be nervous about. "Onions?" he asks, lining up add-ins for Dom's omelet on a cutting board.
"Nope," Dom answers in perfect mimicry of Billy. "Can't have my breath all Stinky McStinkerson if we're gonna be making out on the sofa all afternoon."
Fuck, Billy thinks. "Ha-ha," he says.
Dom caps the marker and mounts it back on the fridge, yawning all the way over to a stool at the kitchen island. Billy hears his palms drumming against the granite.
"Out of eggs," he says to fill the silence as he turns and puts Dom's plate in front of him.
"Been making a lot of hangover food this week, have you?" Dom rests his chin on the heel of his hand, waiting for Billy to join him.
"Yeah," Billy admits quietly as he slouches onto the stool just right of across from him.
Dom's expression instantly goes from amused to concerned, but he doesn't push. He takes a couple of bites, looking at the fridge for a few moments as he chews.
Billy examines his sleep-deprived face, taking stock of any and all minor physical changes that have taken place since the last time they saw each other. "So what's in store for today?" he takes a big bite of his omelet (without onions) and smiles around it as Dom turns his eyes back to him.
"Shopping, I thought." Dom glances down at his lap. "Much as I enjoy the feel of your pants against my bits, I should probably get some of my own."
How long are you staying? Billy thinks. "Why didn't you bring anything?" he says.
Dom takes a big bite and sets his fork down with a resounding clink, signaling that although his omelet's only half gone, he's done with it. He waits until he's finished swallowing before he speaks. "Wasn't thinking." He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Wanted to get to you fast."
Billy's heart is thudding but he manages a slow smile. "Reveal Number Three?"
"Nope." Dom walks around to take care of his plate. "Reveal Number Three is on the fridge." Before Billy can turn to look, Dom's kissing the spot right in front of his ear, his left hand tangled in the hair at the back of his head. "I need a shower."
"Okay, Stinky McStinkerson." Billy waits until he hears the bathroom door close. Then, he turns to read the message board.
Boyd:
I could marry you
looking the way you do
in the morning.
Billy doesn't move a muscle for three whole minutes, and his omelet goes cold.
*
They've been out shopping for about an hour, and Billy's almost forgotten about the fridge reveal. It's not that its impact has weakened at all. No. It's that Dom's been acting, well, too normal. Not that Billy expects him to duck his head and blush and suggest a trip to the jeweler's. But he doesn't expect him to go on acting like he hadn't almost proposed to him in dry-erase marker that morning.
"Ooh rhinestones." Dom picks up a pair of jeans and fingers the cuffs.
Under different circumstances--say, if Dom's trip to Scotland had taken place just a couple of months before--Billy wouldn't have thought twice about it. If Dom's trip had taken place before they spent several weeks confessing things both ridiculous and world-shifting to each other, Billy wouldn't even be having this conversation with himself.
Dom moves the bottom of the leg back and forth so the rhinestones glint under the department store lighting. "I think I may be entering a glam rock phase."
Dom is a flirt. Billy knows this much is true. The sky is blue and Dom is a fucking flirt. Especially where Billy is concerned. To be fair, the fridge reveal can't even be considered Dom's first proposal, maybe not even his fortieth. In the time that they've known each other, Dom has done everything short of humping Billy's leg to express his affection. So when Dom turns to him with a smirk and drawls--
"You'd fuck me in these, wouldn't you Bill?"
--Billy shrugs and thinks Same shite, different day. Dom can't be counted on for clarity, even in person. Maybe none of this has meant anything.
But when Dom takes a tentative step closer and locks eyes with Billy, sounding too serious as he asks, "Do you mind if I go try them on?," Billy smiles, shakes his head, and feels hopeful.
*
That night, Billy suggests Dom join him for dinner and drinks with a few of his friends, one of whom is leaving for Africa the next day. Dom politely refuses, and then impolitely convinces Billy to blow them off and stay in drinking with him all night. At first, Billy compromises, assuring Dom he'll wait until after dinner to meet up with them and then stay out for just one drink (he promises repeatedly). But when he descends the staircase in charcoal dress pants, buttoning the cuffs of a light green dress shirt, Dom's sitting on the couch in his new rhinestone jeans pouting, and Billy sighs.
Dom falls onto his side across the cushions, curled up in a pathetic fetal position, eyes wide and pleading.
Billy unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves as he makes his way over to the couch, flopping down with another sigh.
Dom sits up, eyes wider.
"Go get the scotch, then."
Dom does a victory dance all the way to the kitchen.
*
"...Did you really throw up in her bra?"
"YES! Yes. Indeed I did." Dom is sitting upside down on the sofa, knees bent over the back. The blood is quickly rushing to his head, his Charlie hair hanging almost to the floor. "I bought her a Victoria's Secret gift card. Thought it was the least I could do."
Billy smiles, looking down at him from his upright position. "You look a bit like a troll right now." He downs the rest of his second tumbler of scotch and sets it on the coffee table too loudly.
Dom struggles clumsily to a proper sitting position. His mouth hangs open in protest, his hair still sticking up despite gravity. "You mean like a troll-troll?" His eyes glitter in the TV light. They'd flipped through the channels before settling on a movie station--just for background noise.
"No, not a troll-troll. Like a wee little troll doll-troll. You know? Like a little troll doll with red hair sticking up from its head and a wee gem in its bellybutton." He pokes Dom there, and he squeals. Billy watches him fall limp against the back of the couch, giggling softly. "You're fuckin' pissed already."
"Nooooo."
"Yeah, you are. You're fuckin' pissed. You little fuckin' Yank. What happened to your resolve? What happened to your honor?"
"Lost it when I was fourteen," Dom sighs. "You need more, then." He tops Billy off, then resumes his lazy position, his eyes staring at the screen at half-mast. "The fuck are we watching?"
"Cool Hand Luke." Billy takes a big loud gulp. "I love this film."
"Fell-um," Dom imitates, then giggles.
Billy's quickly relaxing eyes are focused on the screen. "I've got a bit of a thing for Paul Newman."
Dom gasps, mock-scandalized. "Is that a reveal? Why Billy Boyd. What will the heterosexuals say?"
"The heterosexuals aren't immune to Paul's charms, either. They've all got a bit of a thing for him. Just ask Robert Redford."
Dom gasps again. "No. I'll never be able to watch Butch Cassidy the same way again."
Billy smiles, but he's obviously distracted.
Dom focuses his own attention on the screen, where Paul is wearily working in the fields, shackles around his ankles.
'Takin' it off, Boss,' he declares, moving to take off the top of his prison uniform.
His body is lean and muscled, but not necessarily impressive. "...So what is it about Paul Newman, then?"
"His eyes."
They glitter bright, hard blue under the oppressive sun.
Billy lifts his glass to his mouth, taking a slow sip. "Brilliant actor, as well."
They watch the rest of the scene play out in silence, and Dom comes to an instant agreement with Billy's assessment. "Bill?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I make a request?" Dom turns to face him.
"What kind of a request?"
"A reveal request."
Billy pretends to consider this. "I don't know. I think it destroys the integrity of the game. We wouldn't be playing Reveal anymore--we'd just be playing plain old Truth or Dare, only without the Dare. And that's just not fair. As you said, the Reveal species is nearly extinct, whereas people play Truth all the time. At slumber parties and such--"
Dom laughs in exasperation, shoving his face into a couch cushion. "Bill-eeeeeeee."
"What-eeee?" Billy finishes his third scotch and plunks the glass back down on the table, turning to give Dom his full attention. "Yeah, alright. Make your request, you high maintenance bugger."
Dom looks apprehensive. He fingers the rhinestones at the bottom of his jeans. "Why, uh. Why have you been drinking so much this week?"
Billy feels as if he's just fallen off a cliff. "I don't know," he says. It isn't exactly a lie. He leans his head against the back of the couch, looking Dom straight in the eye. His voice is intense and quiet. "Why didn't you tell me you were awake?"
Dom is completely and utterly still.
Billy stands quickly. Hm. That was irrationally bold. He mumbles something about getting more scotch as he all but runs to the kitchen, even though the bottle on the table is still half-full.
*
When Billy crosses the threshold, Dom's message board proposal is staring him in the face. He'd decided not to erase it earlier because he thought that doing so might hurt Dom's feelings in some way. Which is just silly. What if he needs to use his message board? Make a list for grocery shopping to make his uninvited guest feel more at home for the yet-to-be determined duration of his stay?
He moves to erase it, rolling the end of his sleeve down and urging it over the heel of his hand. He stops short at the sound of Dom padding barefoot across the linoleum. He turns, back to the fridge.
Dom's whole body is thrumming with alcohol and energy.
Billy glances at the back door, contemplating a quick escape. Then reminds himself that he's nearing 40 and is therefore the most ridiculous man who's ever lived. He can feel Dom's dry-erase scrawl emanating its horrible power from behind his head. He shrugs helplessly. "'M sorry, Dom. I don't know what--"
Dom's mouth is on his, firm, knocking the crown of his head against the sharp edge of the message board. And just like that, Billy stops thinking.
Two long-fingered hands move to where the impact was made, cradling the sore spot as Dom pulls back from Billy's mouth almost too gently.
"Ehm."
Dom's thumbs are firm at his temples. "I have a reveal."
Billy doesn't move.
"I've had less than honorable intentions since I got here." Dom lets his forehead fall against Billy's and looks down at their feet. "You've been immune to the patented Monaghan flirting all day. So I thought I'd ply you with scotch and bat my eyes at you. But that didn't work either." He looks up. "So." He shuffles forward a little so they are truly sharing each other's space and kisses Billy again, this time with more care. "Aren't you tired of playing this shite?" he whispers into his open mouth.
Billy shakes his head ever so slightly. He doesn't want to breathe, let alone speak.
Dom pulls back with a half-smile. "Alright." He reaches above Billy's head. "You only get one more, though."
"Better make it good, then." Billy's voice cracks a little.
Now armed with the dreaded dry-erase marker, Dom takes Billy's hand up from where it hangs idly at his side.
Billy is not surprised, but his heart still speeds up of its own accord as the words "I love you" are scrawled across his knuckles. "I know," he says, still wanting to be sure. Needing to be sure.
Dom rolls his eyes, making a big production of taking up the other hand. He writes slowly and deliberately: "Not like that."
"Jesus," Billy exhales, lifting the I-love-you hand to his face and smiling into it.
"Not really the response I was aiming for, no." Dom strokes the hair at the side of Billy's head to coax him from hiding.
"No, Dom, it's. I'm." Billy laughs. "I'm fucking terrified."
Dom nods in nervous agreement. He takes a deep breath, putting the marker in its rightful place and lacing their hands together at their sides. "So. Are we leaping?"
Billy leans in. "Let's hope neither of us vomits."
Dom releases a joyful laugh and Billy catches it in his mouth.
***
END
