home

Title: Everpresence
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Oh, Billy was at CollectorMania, alright...
Note: For the very lovely domhobbitzes, who also provided the gorgeous, fluffy bunny. Merci, darling.

I.

Dominic will never cease to amaze Billy.

He watches from high above the crowd as Dominic embraces everyone and everything that comes his way, sharing his warmth and smile with the world for just this one weekend of his life. Billy can stare down at Dominic this way because he is not working this event. He’d sold his soul and that of all his unborn children to get out of Collectormania, pleading exhaustion, but really, it was more that he wanted to be outside the event looking in, as Dominic himself had been way back in May.

In May. Months ago, years ago in Billy’s mind.

Billy’s begun to think of his calendar in terms of Dom–years, the amount of time that passes in between visits to Los Angeles, New York, London, Glasgow, wherever they need to go to catch each other. These lengths of time have grown to unbearable stretches over the past year, and though they’d seen each other only days before at the charades event, Billy and Dom had both been accompanied by ... Others, lets’ just leave it at that, Billy smiles to himself.

Billy continues to watch, choking on a laugh as Dominic and Elijah bounce toward each other in rutting peacock dance, their stomachs touching to the sound of a hundred flashbulbs. Images of Dominic strong, hard, solid chest and stomach run through Billy’s mind before diving down to his crotch, where suddenly things have become a bit tighter. Billy coughs lightly and switches position, leaning over a rail to watch the rest of the show.

There is no doubt that Dominic is scruffy–beautiful like this. He comes alive in the light of fans, of friends, of those he loves even without knowing names or places or faces. Dominic welcomes every touch, every kiss, every hug, as if it were his last—or very first, depending on the lass and the strength of her grip. It is wonderful to see, and Billy wishes he had brought his own camera.

Hell, Billy wishes he could run through the line himself. There are a few gifts he wouldn’t mind sharing with Dominic right now. But there is always the next best thing.

He rings Dominic’s cellphone, and thrills to the sound of Dom’s voice as he answers. “Idiot,” Billy hollers down the line, “you’re supposed to be working.” Three and a half minutes pass as Billy is handed over to a fan, and he cannot help but love it, chatting to this girl and prodding her to give Dominic a kiss for or from him. She obeys, and Billy watches it happen from his perch high above Dominic and the girl. Dominic accepts the kiss with glee, then suddenly spins around, as if expecting Billy somewhere behind him.

Billy’s long since disappeared, though, behind a pillar, shaking with laughter. When Dominic’s phone is returned to him, Billy’s voice becomes quieter, and he watches Dominic strain to hear.

“You won’t be busy tonight, Dom.” Billy murmurs, and Dominic shakes his head as if Billy can see him. “Dom?”

“No!” Dom says quickly. “No, not at all. Billy, what—”

“Quiet,” Billy says softly. “You’ll catch the train back into the city—”

“We’ve got a car—”

“There is no we.” Billy bites down on the words, careful to use just enough vehemence to make Dominic break out in a little sweat Billy can almost see from his vantage point. “You will get back into the city whatever way you want, and then you will go to Hazlitt’s—”

“Hazlitt’s?” Dominic blurts out, and Billy sees Elijah's head turn, eyebrows knitted with curiosity.

“Dominic, shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Billy growls. “You will go to Hazlitt’s and you’ll go to room 312 and you’ll wait for me there.”

“Billy, I ...” Dominic runs one hand through his messy hair, and Billy knows he is imagining Billy’s own hands doing the same thing. “I don’t—”

“You do,” Billy says smoothly, gently. “You very much do. The door will be open, Dommie, and you’ll go inside and you’ll make me and you a drink and you’ll wait for me.”

Dominic’s eyes are flitting around the building, and Billy cannot hold back a smile.

“I see you, Dominic. I see you looking for me, and I see you wanting to find me. Come and find me tonight. The minute you’re done with this rubbish, I expect you on your way to me. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” Dominic answers, breathless and avoiding Elijah’s now fascinated stare.

“Good,” Billy says cheerfully. “Now go kiss some more girls for all of us.”

Billy shuts his phone and disappears into the crowds.

II.

Halfway back to Hazlitt’s, Billy’s erection finally subsides, and he breathes in a giggly sigh of relief. It is an utter joy to watch Dominic crumble, unravel and spin in eighteen different directions, but not nearly as pleasant to be able to do nothing about it. And of course, Dominic is not the only one spinning now.

Billy figures out the cab driver’s tip to the maximum possible—he’s astonished that he’s finally found a driver who actually knows how to get to this unmarked, gorgeous old hotel building in London without steering down hundreds of irrelevant, incorrect streets.

Now back in his hotel room, Billy sweeps the place clean of his own debris: the open suitcase, the toiletries thrown here, there and everywhere as he rushed to get to Milton Keynes before the place became mobbed. Billy figures he has another three, perhaps four hours before Dominic should arrive—and of course this is assuming that Dominic finds another driver who knows his way to Hazlitt’s, a rare commodity. Plenty of time to have a shower, order up some food and get a bit of rest.

Billy is tired, after all. The play, the very beginning push of press work for ROTK, the positively frightening schedule of Master and Commander premieres and Two Towers extended DVD release—all these things had already combined to nearly break Billy down. He is tired of the people, of the press, of his own loneliness even in the midst of huge well–meaning crowds.

Mostly Billy is tired of being without Dominic for months at a time.

It has nothing to do with The Dom and Billy Show. He’d already spoken, gently and lovingly, to Dominic about how he needed a great deal of time to just be Billy before he could be Dom–and–Billy again, and Dominic had heartily agreed. In reality, Dom had a much harder go of it. His post–LOTR movies were nowhere near wide release, and he was still best—hell, perhaps only known for LOTR, and it was getting to him.

And yet Dominic would not give up this newfound attention for the world. It is fuel for Dominic’s life, in a smaller and sweeter way than the mediation and the yoga and the random acts of inner peace–seeking Dominic indulges in himself, but fuel nonetheless. It motivates him, helps him, makes him beautiful and quick and sharp and funny and wonderful and all things so fucking perfectly Dominic in Billy’s mind.

Billy makes a few phone calls, begging off a morning appointment with his agent—no, of course I’m not on a bender with Dom, don’t be stupid, woman—then ordering some dinner before disappearing into the shower.

Billy stands under the water wondering if Dominic has left Milton Keynes yet. He doesn’t bother to check the time. There’s really no point. No, now is the time for Billy to prepare himself.

The water runs down his body quickly, pounding in a rhythmic massage that gives Billy all kinds of ideas. His hands travel midway down his stomach before he stops himself, knowing that he’d much rather wait, much rather have Dom’s ink–stained hands touching him.

And he will have them touching him, oh yes.

Billy towels off, kicking the bathroom door open so that the fresh, soapy–warm smell of the shower will permeate through the whole room. It is a scent Billy loves almost as much as that of the skin on Dominic’s neck. He shaves slowly, smiling at his own flushed and, yeah, horny as all fuck reflection in the mirror. His eyes are glittering green, and he imagines this is what Dominic sees right before Billy falls into him, at a pace that can go from blister to blessing as each second passes.

Billy knows what he himself sees at those moments: Dominic’s eyes flitting all over Billy’s face, his forehead creased in exertion, awe, just the tiniest splintercrack of fear, and above all things, joy—love. Trust.

It is still a thing of fragile beauty and wonder to Billy that Dominic wants him—needs him—so very much, even when he already has Elijah.

Billy wonders when he will start to feel angry about that ... situation. It hasn’t happened yet, and it may never happen. But Billy can deny Dominic nothing, not even his play or his playmate, and Elijah is really nothing more than that. Billy’s had the somewhat dubious pleasure and privilege to fuck them both, to watch them fuck each other, and he’s never seen Dominic’s eyes turn toward Elijah the way they do toward him, and that is all Billy needs to know.

A few minutes later, Billy is dressed again, this time in a simple black shirt and trousers, and he is ready. He wanders down to the quiet chaos of the lobby, where the cheerfully incompetent yet really quite wonderful staff are putting on a show almost as entertaining as Collectormania. He’s downstairs less than forty five minutes when Dominic arrives.

Billy watches him from his chair, knowing that Dominic is too distracted to look for him down here. Indeed, Dominic marches up to the reception desk, and almost asks for a key before he remembers his instructions. He pivots on nervous legs and makes his way to the stairwell, taking the steps two at time.

Billy moves slowly now, folding his newspaper and dusting off his trouser legs before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to the stairs. He can hear Dominic’s puffing little breaths as he ascends to the correct floor, can almost even hear Dominic talking to himself as he wanders, looking for the correct room. Billy smiles when the room service is delivered just as Dominic opens the door, and actually laughs out loud when Dominic attempts to pay for the meal.

But then Dominic is inside the room, and the door clicks shut. It is time for Billy to wait Dominic out, to feel for the right moment when Dominic will begin to worry. He leans against the door to listen, smiling at the passers–by who cast wary glances his way.

Dominic is humming to himself inside, flopping down on the slightly creaky bed and clicking his tongue impatiently, waiting for something to happen. Billy bites his own tongue to keep from giggling when Dominic rises, making the bed creak again, and wanders into the bathroom.

Billy wonders if it’s worth it to destroy the mood for a joke, to open the bathroom door with a loud “gotcha” while Dominic jumps and sprays the entire bathroom in surprise and embarrassment.

No, not worth it.

Billy waits, waits and waits some more until Dominic finally does what Billy has hoped for this whole time, exiting on to the small balcony outside the hotel room, breathing in the London night air. It’s only then that Billy opens the door, slowly and softly like a thief, and follows Dominic’s hums and whistles to the glass door.

It’s terribly sudden, Billy knows, but then he also knows that Dominic can take the surprise, can do little more than gasp and purr in appreciation when Billy’s gentle hands and long, perfect fingers come around Dominic’s eyes and throat, bringing Dominic back against him in the thrilling, possessive way Billy will occasionally take Dominic.

Billy turns Dominic’s face toward him, still shielding the younger man’s eyes, and breathes warm on Dominic’s throat, pressing his tongue on the vein throbbing quickly there. Dominic sighs into the touch and lets his hands flutter weakly in the air, waiting for permission to touch Billy somewhere, anywhere.

“Go on,” Billy whispers, and Dominic moves, arms twisting around Billy’s waist, hips jutting against Billy, already needy, already desperate. Billy growls low in his throat, and feels Dominic instantly harden against him. Billy knows it’s only through the strongest will that Dominic has yet to make another sound since his first little gasp.

“Back,” Billy murmurs, and he is instantly released. Billy adores this, loves how Dominic understands every command as if he had been born to serve Billy this way, as a friend, as a lover, as the only thing that keeps Billy going, no matter how long they are apart in Dom–years. Billy tugs at Dominic’s shirttail, bringing the fabric up and out of Dominic’s jeans and then over his head. Billy’s palms rest on Dominic’s chest, running over the hardened muscles there, repossessing what he has never really lost.

Then it is Dominic’s jeans, falling to the ground at Billy’s feet, and Dominic steps from them expertly, trying to get back into Billy’s arms.

Billy notices then that even though his hand no longer covers Dominic’s eyes, Dominic has kept them shut, waiting for Billy’s word to open them, to see Billy at last.

The image—and the absolutely mindbending idea of Dominic’s perfect submission this way—makes Billy’s legs weaken. He blinks hard, trying to maintain control, watching when Dominic licks his lips, still waiting.

Billy takes Dominic’s hands carefully, walking them backward to the bed, where Billy lays him down, nudging at his knee so that Dominic’s legs fall open immediately. Billy allows himself a sigh at this vision of ruffian grace and broken, imperfect beauty before he traces down Dominic’s leg with one hand. In the fading evening light, Billy can see bruises, bruises he knows were not made by his hands—bruises he will erase tonight by covering them with his own if need be.

Yes, of course Billy knows that Dominic likes to be taken this way—to be bruised, to be handled, to be brought to the end of insanity before being granted release of some, any, kind. But Billy much prefers to be the one doling out that release, leaving bruises, leaving handprints.

The handprints Billy can see on Dominic’s hips are smaller than his own, and the jagged little scratches could not have come from his well–manicured hands. No, these are scratches made by a tiger–cub, not by a tiger itself.

Billy smiles in the darkness, and runs his other hand across Dominic’s eyelids, drawing Dominic’s soft, stormy eyes to open. Their gazes meet, and Billy nods in acknowledgment.

“Well, hello,” he breathes into that beloved skin at Dominic’s neck, and Dominic’s hands fly into Billy’s hair almost unbidden.

III.

Dominic’s eyes are wide and sharply focused now, boring into Billy’s, and he waits, as ever, for permission to express himself another way. But Billy likes to take his time deciding how he will allow Dominic his expression, and he knows that Dominic will keep waiting, will not do a thing until it’s the right time.

Time is being measured in Billy–years now, Billy thinks to himself.

His hands travel all over Dominic’s chest, pausing to flick and caress at nipples already erect and wanting to be touched, kissed. Billy can grant that easily enough; it’s no strain on himself to lick and bite and tease and take something so small that has a such a large effect on Dominic.

And Billy knows something very particular about Dominic—something that happens when Billy does bite.

Dominic’s discipline in these matters has always been almost perfect, but being bitten is his absolute weakness. As his pointed teeth sink down over Dominic’s chest, Billy feels the choked cry rise out of the younger man before he hears it. And Billy smiles, warm and tender, against the now raised, flushed skin.

“Now, Dominic ...” Billy sighs. “We’ve talked about this ...”

“Fuck, fuck ...” Dominic gasps. “You can’t—Billy, I—don’t—”

The nervous, slightly panicked cries are all for show, Billy knows, but he looks up anyway, just to be sure. But of course Dominic’s eyes are half–closed and stormy now, and his little whimpers mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. He wants this, wants it very much, just as he wants anything he can get from Billy.

Anything he cannot get from Elijah.

“Hush,” Billy says gently, but Dominic understands the quiet menace underneath it. “Or did you want—”

Dominic’s eyes fly open, little lightning strikes flashing across the blue and grey there. He knows what Billy is thinking, and his eyes immediately move to the chair, to Billy’s suitcase, where Dominic knows there are—things—things Billy knows Dominic likes, things Billy will use when and if he wants to. But in truth, they both know that tonight is not about such play. That Dominic can get from Elijah.

“I can make sure you don’t make any noise, Dommie,” Billy whispers, close and tight to Dominic’s ear. “Or you can do it yourself. I know what I’d prefer.”

Dominic blinks and nods, still waiting.

“You will be good,” Billy says, and it is not at all a question.

And Dominic nods again.

Billy smiles and descends, lips and teeth and tongue moving only a little more gently this time. Dominic bites down on his lower lip to keep from crying out when Billy’s fingers scrape down his thighs at the same pace his teeth graze his stomach.

And oh, but Dominic tastes perfect on Billy’s tongue, salty and vaguely smoky from Elijah’s nearness all day, but also spicy and warmed just from Dominic’s own essence, a scent that will permeate Billy’s clothing for the next few days. Billy feels Dominic’s hands tugging at his shirt, and while he would normally show annonyance at this, well, slight impertinence, Billy is feeling indulgent, and he looks up to see Dominic panting and begging with his eyes, begging the way only Dominic can.

Billy rises up, hands already working at the buttons, but Dominic covers Billy’s hands with his own, blinking furiously and mouth working soundlessly as he pulls himself up to loosen Billy’s shirt. Billy lets his hands fall, allows Dominic this little thing, watches Dominic’s hands tremble with greed as he pushes the shirt from Billy’s shoulder.

Want ... Dominic’s mouth forms the word with not even a whisper of breath, and Billy nods. Dominic tongue sweeps hot and thick across Billy’s neck and throat and chest so quickly that it is as if Billy has embraced fire and does not recall its danger. Dominic is dangerous like this, after all—denied the power of speech, barely allowed to touch before being touched—oh yes, Dominic is a rag in a bottle of gasoline, longing to ignite.

And Billy never could resist playing with matches.

Dominic’s hands are at Billy’s waist now, tearing and pulling, yanking at Billy’s trousers, shoving them down until Billy grabs his wrists.

“Down,” Billy whispers, and Dominic settles immediately back to the pillow, eyes going softer now. “You will be good,” Billy repeats, and Dominic nods furiously.

Billy makes his way back down Dominic’s body a little faster than before, wanting to get some more of that taste, of that barely–breathable essence in his mouth before he fucks Dominic over, across and nearly through this hotel mattress. Dominic takes an enormous inhale when Billy’s tongue and teeth plunge into the hair at his pelvis, and Billy can feel Dominic’s hips shaking with the effort not to rise, to thrust up against Billy’s face.

The taste in stronger down here, as it always is, but Billy’s certain he will never get enough of it. If he concentrates, if he really thinks, Billy can find no trace of cloves, no sweet tang of Elijah’s soap and shampoo. He can, however, taste himself—sharp, rusty longing and musk and sandalwood, all traces of Billy that live deep inside Dominic’s skin and sweat their way to the surface when Billy is near.

Billy licks down Dominic’s shaft with a true lover’s knowledge of where to stop and start and stop again, where to graze his teeth and where to pull back with the gentlest of laps. Dominic mewls, a graceless, driving sound that makes Billy want to dive down and take Dominic whole, bring him off so quickly that Dominic will pass out in his arms before he’s even finished coming, but what’s the point in that? Oh no, Billy wants to be in Dominic’s face, wants to watch Dominic contort and gasp and scream out his pleasure when it’s the right time.

When it has been fully measured in Billy–years.

“Be good,” Billy hisses, biting down into that patch of damp hair, and Dominic cuts off his own howl mid–stream. Billy’s fingers clench hard around the base of Dominic’s shaft and he descends anyway, somehow wanting to take Dominic as far as he can possibly go, just to break Dominic’s already shattering discipline even more.

He’s only there for a few moments, swallowing and sucking and breathing and moving, before Dominic’s thighs begin to tremble. Just as suddenly Billy draws backward, and he runs his teeth lightly over Dominic’s cock as he releases him. Dominic’s breath exits his lungs in a strange, muffled shriek, then stops as Billy’s plunges one long, certain finger inside him.

It helps, of course, that Dominic could not possibly be more willing to be taken. His legs are still shaking, but he opens further for Billy, his hips twisting and rising from the sheets, finally allowed to move. Billy can see his mouth moving too, forming words Billy cannot decipher and doesn’t really care to.

Billy deeply regrets having to pull away, but he knows he cannot wait much longer, and Dominic, well. Dominic is teetering at the edge, an edge Billy is well familiar with. It would be such a waste to just let Dominic come now, before Billy’s had a chance to watch him really fly apart.

He removes the finger, reaching to his bag on the floor for the small bottle without taking his eyes from Dominic. “Be calm,” he whispers, and Dominic bears down hard, pressing his hips and heels into the mattress as Billy’s newly–warmed and wet fingers enter him again, this time working in slow movements that torture him.

Billy knows that Dominic hates this part—the waiting, the preparing, the gentleness of it all—but that makes Billy enjoy it all the more. Elijah is a horrible fumbler when it comes to lube and preparation and, well, almost everything, actually, and so Dominic’s become accustomed to the sudden rush and immediate gratification of Elijah addled, rushed fucking, the slightly–more–than–teenaged greediness and hazy lust that overcomes both of them when they fuck.

Billy is no teenager, and is rarely, if ever, addled by anything.

And so he prepares Dominic slowly, watching the younger man twist and burn and sweat into the sheets. Dominic could not be any more graceful if he were dancing, Billy thinks abstractly as he brushed one hand to Dominic’s cheeks, vainly trying to settle him. Dominic takes Billy’s wrist and presses his lips to it, wanting more, needing more.

It would appear to be time.

Billy pushes Dominic’s legs open even more, raising one of them halfway before he realizes that Dominic hardly needs the help, and has almost achieved the full turnout of his hips that dancers crave, that takes decades to properly learn. Billy would laugh aloud at the many and varied yoga jokes that run through his mind, but he’s more distracted by Dominic’s hand, now inching down his chest to stroke himself.

“Don’t you dare,” Billy growls, throwing the hand back behind Dominic’s head to the pillow. Dominic bucks up, forcing the issue, and Billy slams his hips back down forcefully. Dominic releases a shattered groan of pain, of delight, and Billy looks down in shock to see that his fingers are welled in the divots of older bruises, pressed down and perfectly fitting there.

These are his own work, after all—simply made smaller by time and healing, not by the hands of another.

Billy looks up to meet Dominic’s gaze again, and Dominic wraps his legs around Billy’s waist, drawing him in. Billy is frozen, awed and more than a little terrified, by there’s nothing he can do about it now. Dominic is his, has been his since the last time they were together months ago, and he will have to accept that at some point.

But he cannot accept it now, lest the knowledge break him.

He shoves into Dominic at a brutal pace, wondering where this surge of energy came from, trying to erase the sudden image of Elijah’s curious face at Collectormania while Dominic was on the phone. Dominic meets every thrust with a sigh, a moan, a prayer, a curse, and Billy finds himself crumbling, unraveling, spinning in eighteen different directions. And he can do something about it now.

He slows himself down long enough to make Dominic’s eyes fly open in confusion, then presses down so his lips rest against Dominic’s speaking so softly that the words tumble into Dominic’s mouth.

“You ...” he whispers, and Dominic waits. “You will be—”

“I will be good,” Dominic says clearly, and plunges his tongue into Billy’s mouth, pulling him down further before thrusting up again, demanding more. Billy rises and pushes and takes, stroking Dominic’s cock with a gentleness that is almost as powerful and as thrilling as the wet, wonderful heat inside Dominic’s body.

It is ending, and Billy feels it, feels himself stepping down from this ridiculous podium of control for just a moment, right, just long enough to register that this everpresent need he has had for Dominic is less about the need itself than it is about Dominic’s everpresence, the consistency of his love and trust and fear and need, and what those things bring out in Billy. He will always have to test it, have to press harder, have to bruise Dominic to make sure he still feels it.

To make sure his everpresence is still felt in return.

Dominic sucks in air through his teeth, the way he always does when he’s about to come, and Billy pushes hard and fast and deep until Dominic is crying, screaming, scrabbling at Billy’s back with little grabby motions that never fail to make Billy arch his back and thrust one last time, grunting furiously and hissing out words he never remembers. Dominic’s hands clench around Billy’s forearms, and he holds Billy up for as long as he can, watching Billy come, watching Billy watch him.

Then it is over.

Billy shakes for long minutes afterward, and Dominic caresses his back, his face, his arms, his hair, everything to settle Billy back down. Billy is uncoiling, easing his way back down to be with Dominic in this way, and Dominic’s body seems to welcome him, molding around Billy’s sleepy, heavy body like a pillow.

Billy traces lines and bruises on Dominic’s chest, his fingers scratching lightly across the skin like a tiger–cub’s, not a tiger itself.

Dominic smiles in the darkness, and runs his other hand across Billy’s eyelids, drawing Billy’s soft, watery eyes to close.


home