home

Title: A Little Short on the Side
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R
Summary: Slightly angsty, slightly schmoopy haircut pRon. You read that right.
Author’s Note: unedited and written very much on the fly for miss cindyjade, mwah.

Pickups again, after nine months away.

It’s getting on winter now in New Zealand, and Dominic’s loath to lose the hair—the brilliant, wild tumble of hair he’s fluffed to its greatest width and height—for more reasons than the insulation it provides his head. He hates the cropped, shorn look he’s forced to maintain while filming, just because of that fucking ugly yellow–brown wig. It’s not that he’s “buying into the whole hair–makes–the–man, thing, hell no,” he told Elijah on the plane from Los Angeles. It’s just … he looks like such a roughed up piece of Manc trash without it. Okay, Samson, Elijah had snorted, ignoring the flash of genuine irritation in Dominic’s eyes.

Billy understands. But of course he would, considering that when Billy gets his hair cut, he’s under no illusion that it’s all coming back. Billy, too, looks much better with longer hair, wilder hair, but he can get away with it short, too. Everyone’s looking at his lips, anyway, and Dominic can hardly blame them.

Maybe that’s it, Dominic thinks. Everyone’s stunned into silence by Elijah’s eyes, and driven to distraction by Billy’s lips. Why shouldn’t Dominic get to keep the one thing that draws their attention back to him—that streaky, matted hair? He stares into the makeup mirror for half an hour, running one hand through it, spiking it up and smashing it back down, before he even notices that Billy’s arrived.

“Ah, the hair,” Billy nods sagely, and Dominic doesn’t even bother to blush. “I’ve got an idea, Dom.”

~~

That evening, Dominic finds himself in the front room of Billy’s rented house, stripped to the waist and facing a large rectangular mirror. Billy moves in circles around him, brandishing a long pair of scissors Dominic’s seen before in the hands of a makeup artist, a girl call Rhea whom Dominic distinctly recalls seeing grinding against Billy in a club on their second to last night in New Zealand nine months ago.

An action, Dominic recalls, that didn’t get her nearly as far as she might have hoped.

Dominic pulled Billy that night—it might have actually been the other way around, now that he thinks about it—but it was a genuine pull, all gritty around the edges but good nonetheless, and needed, too, fuck was it ever needed. They’d never talked about picking anything up afterward, mostly because of that whole oh, right, Elijah situation but also because it just never seemed to work out—too many other people, too many other commitments. The time they chose to spend together was better served by writing and joking, surfing and drinking. Being friends. Being inseparable. Being Billy and Dom.

It’s all a little stranger now.

Dominic thinks he should probably be nervous, but he’s not. Billy knows his way around these things, as he does almost everything else, and so Dominic relaxes in the chair and closes his eyes, trusting Billy to do this right.

It’s only a few minutes before Dominic feels something different about this little impromptu haircut–something reverential to it, something slow and tender and fantastic. The cut itself moves along faster than Dominic’s ever experienced under the care of a stylist, but Billy’s hands also work gently in his hair, massaging his scalp, down to his neck and sometimes his shoulders. More than once, Billy moves to brush the stray, fallen brown locks from Dominic’s shoulders and ends up stroking his palm down Dominic’s chest.

There’s also the warmth of Billy’s also–shirtless body, close behind Dominic and smelling faintly—but nicely, always nicely—of the weak tea leaves that make up Fangorn’s floor. Dominic’s getting lost in the whole feeling, just a little bit, and it takes much too long for him to surface back to the here and now when Billy murmurs for him to take a look, Dom.

~~

Dominic wouldn’t lie and call it the best haircut he’s ever had. It’s not, not by a long shot. But it looks better than anything he’d do himself, or have done in a rush, and the only problem he can see is that—

“I left it long on top,” Billy smiles, running his hand through the darker blonde waves. “They’ll keep it down well enough with the gel, yeah? It’s just right on the sides and most of the back. And you look good with it this way.”

“Thanks,” Dominic says slowly, not really wanting to turn away from the mirror just yet. He’s less fascinated by his own reflection that he is by Billy’s, though. Billy’s chest is flushed, mottled red and dark pink that makes the hair there appear darker than usual, and his breathing, while still controlled, is somewhat shallow. Billy catches Dominic’s stare in the mirror and doesn’t let go, not even when Dominic himself is aching to blink.

“I think—“

“’s a bit late, Dom. Maybe—“

“No, I just—“

“Filming … we have Feet—“

“Don’t care—“

Dominic’s all movement now, turning in the chair and standing and reaching and taking and covering Billy’s surprised mouth with his own. Billy’s hands fly up into Dominic’s hair, freeing the last loosened strands and tugging on the shorter remains. The touch makes little sparks run up and down Dominic’s back, and his hand races to Billy’s jeans, yanking at the zipper and pushing inside before either of them has the smallest clue what they’re doing.

~~

Dominic hates himself because he knows this isn’t going to be as slow as it could be. He’s a little overwhelmed, is all, and just as he can’t blame anyone else for falling in love with Billy’s lips or Elijah’s eyes, he can’t himself be blamed for falling to his knees and wanting to do this now now now, and do it well—well enough that Billy will let him do it again.

Billy’s whispering something, almost chanting, and Dominic doesn’t want to know, just in case it sounds like no, no, stop. But of course, that can’t be it, because Billy’s hand is back in his hair, pulling again, harder this time, and Billy’s hips fit so perfectly in Dominic’s grip and, and—

He tastes so fucking perfect.

Dominic can barely look up, afraid to lose everything up to and including his concentration. The sounds coming from Billy are softer now, but more urgent, and Dominic responds the best way he knows how, with the gentle scrape of teeth and quick, rough strokes of his tongue, with hard, kneading motions in his hands and with the hollowing of his cheeks and relaxing of his throat. Billy, Billy, he thinks, and is almost pathetically grateful not to have to slow down before Billy moves too hard on him Elijah or quicken his pace uncomfortably to make this take the least amount of time possible Bean.

This is different, and better and all things right.

~~

He almost expects Billy to be quiet when he comes, and is more than pleasantly surprised when he’s not, he’s so incredibly not. Billy bucks his hips and curses violently and rakes his fingernails in Dominic’s hair and in his neck, leaving marks he’ll feel for hours if not days.

Dominic rides it out, suddenly loving everything about it—the curiosity, the rush, the moment of fear, the payoff, everything—and only letting go when Billy’s knees buckle and he falls, meeting Dominic on the floor and kissing him again, kissing him hard and fast and with hardly any breath at all, from the way Billy’s chest is working.

“Stay,” Billy’s saying, gasping in Dominic’s ear and against his throat. “Stay here, let me—“

“Yeah, okay,” Dominic whispers back, folding Billy up tight against him. “Just, wait—“

“Come on, come on Dominic.” It’s a command, shy and soft though it sounds, and Dominic nods, pulling them both to stand. As they walk and kiss and bite their way through Billy’s house, crashing unimpressively into walls, Dominic opens his eyes to catch another glimpse of himself in that large mirror, one more time.

He looks good. He looks better. And to anyone who might see them this way, he looks to be all Billy’s.

“Wasn’t a bad idea,” Dominic murmurs, throwing himself toward Billy’s bed and groaning when Billy follows him down. Billy smiles for the first time in several minutes and slides one hand inside Dominic’s jeans—

Picking up again, after nine months away.

~~~


home