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Title: Exposure
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R/NC–17
Summary: Photography. Angst. Wee bit of a mindgame.
Author's Note: I spent far too much time staring at this picture today. And this is the result.


You don’t win a prize for getting Dominic on his back anymore.

Billy knows he was only the first of many to achieve that particular goal. But it’s easier to imagine—to believe—that he’s still the only one to see Dominic like this, stretched out on a grey–green faux–pebble finished floor—and comfortable there, too, staring up at Billy with soft, sleep–warmed eyes.

“You alright?” Dominic sighs around a yawn, and Billy nods, concentrating fiercely on the camera in his hands, on getting this difficult shot just right.

“Don’t move, Dom.”

Another sigh, but Dominic obeys.

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The sunlight streaming in from the window is not quite warm enough to justify Billy’s sudden discomfort. But Billy’s always prided himself on his ability to adapt, to shift blame or blessing wherever he most needs it to go, and now is no exception.

The real source of Billy’s distraction has been quiet for several minutes now, allowing Billy to position him this way and that on the floor. Dominic never questions any pose Billy suggests, and Billy likes to think that that’s because Dominic trusts him implicitly in this as he does in everything else.

Well—almost everything else.

------------

This photography thing is still new to Dominic and Billy, something they indulge in on their days off. And Billy will have you know that it’s got nothing to with Viggo, and everything to do with alleviating boredom, with learning something new about themselves and each other.

They don’t schedule these little sessions, but when one asks, the other is not to refuse without a very good reason—and very good is very subjective, Billy will also have you know.

The fact is that neither of them has ever declined to be captured by the other, at least on film.

------------

Billy is, as one might expect, methodical in his choice of shot. Long minutes pass between flashes, minutes in which Billy will turn Dominic’s chin a fraction of an inch. Will brush stray curls underneath Dominic’s ear until they rest exactly where he wants.

This deliberation would in any other circumstance drive Dominic insane. But here he seems to enjoy more than the attention and odd caress, and Billy feeds off Dominic’s pleasure, using it to frame Dominic like no one else can.

Billy knows, after all, that despite rumours to the contrary, only he can make Dominic this still.

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Billy shakes his hand out, flexing the fingers before curling them back around the camera. Dominic’s eyes follow the movement and he squirms a bit on the floor, taking a long–held breath. Billy tilts his head, a mildly disapproving frown spoiling his sweet face, and Dominic settles again, but for his mouth.

“I hate this shirt,” he sighs, and Billy nods, accustomed to riding Dominic’s trains of thought. “I do.”

“Mmm.”

Dominic huffs and squirms again while Billy’s distracted forwarding the film. “Billy, I’m tired. Fucking raked—”

“‘S why you’re on the floor, Dom.”

Another huff, and Billy smiles.

------------

Billy moves closer, standing directly above Dominic’s body and peering at him through the tiny viewfinder. Dominic is tired, Billy can see that. Bar the whingeing, which Billy will of course grant him, Dominic’s been unnaturally quiet, And his eyes are cloudy, his mouth and jaw slack with the kind of exhaustion that comes hard–earned.

“Only a few more minutes,” Billy says, very gently, and Dominic relaxes.

“What are we doing tonight?”

Thought I might take you home, Billy thinks, and blinks in surprise. “Dunno. Movie? Sleep.”

“Sleep,” Dominic nods. “Excellent choice.”

“Don’t move,” Billy whispers, and Dominic stills.

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One flash, two, and it comes to Billy that Dominic really does only ever let his body come to complete rest like this for Billy—for his camera, and for Billy himself.

For months, Billy has seen the blurred reflection of others in Dominic’s eyes, and ignored them all. They disappear upon developing, Billy decided long ago, and therefore hold no power over the finished portrait. But it’s harder to deny what he sees now—himself, revealed and a little bit lost in those eyes.

Dominic blinks, upsetting Billy’s shot, and for the first time Billy forgets to scold him.

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“Aren’t you wrecked, Billy?” Dominic asks, and even his voice is tired, cracking in just the right—wrong—places to make Billy’s breath catch. “Aren’t you just set to die?”

Billy lowers the camera and nods. “D’you want me to stop?”

“No,” Dominic’s eyebrows knit in surprise. “Not until you—no.”

Billy sinks down, hesitantly, and Dominic’s hands rise by instinct to catch him. Billy feels the protest in his body as he falls, feels himself folding over Dominic, straddling him, holding himself inches away, holding himself back—

Because you get no prizes for getting Dominic on his back anymore.

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“Billy,” Dominic whispers, panic and awkward, unfamiliar need cresting blue and black over his eyes.

“Don’t move.” A flash, and then another, and Dominic doesn’t flinch from either. “Don’t move, don’t move.” It comes out in ragged, guttering breaths, and Billy’s hands are shaking now.

Dominic reaches again, his hands spidery and swift on Billy’s thighs. “Billy, please, let me—”

“Don’t touch me.”

Even forced out from between gritted teeth, the words are louder than Billy intended, harsher, more vicious. Dominic’s mouth falls open and his hands fall away, trembling harder than Billy’s.

Another flash, and Dominic is still again.

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Billy cannot meet Dominic’s eyes, cannot do anything but rest the camera gently on Dominic’s chest and lean forward, reaching for Dominic’s wrists.

“Please, please,” Dominic whispers, moving restlessly under Billy even as he tries to remain still. “Won’t fight you, you can pretend—”

Billy inhales sharply, moving backwards to scuttle off Dominic’s body before this gets worse—before he sees nothing in Dominic’s eyes but his own fear. The camera rattles as it hits the ground, and Dominic smacks it away, grabbing and tearing at Billy’s shirt.

“Don’t move,” Dominic whispers, low and dark in Billy’s ear. “Don’t go.”

------------

There’s really nowhere to run—nowhere Dominic won’t follow, won’t demand answers to questions Billy cannot bear.

“You can pretend,” Dominic says again, and Billy closes his eyes against the words. “I do, Billy, all the time. I pretend it’s you, so you can—” Dominic takes a shuddering breath. “You can pretend it’s whoever you want as much as I want you. ‘M not gonna hold it against you, like, because I know it’s not me. It’s not me.”

Dominic pauses, brushing a stray curl underneath Billy’s ear, and his touch is enough to destroy any resolve Billy had left.

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“Can’t do this,” Billy hisses, hands scrabbling at Dominic’s belt. “I’ll hurt you, you don’t want this, you don’t—”

“Fucking try me,” Dominic gasps. He twists and rises, hips desperate to meet Billy’s, and Billy straddles him again, hands curling around Dominic’s wrists harder than before. Billy presses them above Dominic’s head, forcing them down while he descends to Dominic’s lips.

And it’s perfect, exactly what Billy expected. Dominic is all teeth and tongue and breath made sweet by candy and cranberry juice. Billy could devour him, and just might if given time.

If Dominic does not devour him first.

------------

The fact is that Billy cannot decide who wants this more. But where Dominic is greedy and shaking, Billy is pacing himself, breathing hard. Where Dominic is boiling over, Billy is at a simmer, burning low and hot for Dominic and wishing he still held his camera, wishing he could capture Dominic just like this, blurred around his edges and halfway to begging.

Perhaps he still has time to get that shot. And perhaps that is all he needs from Dominic. Perhaps that is all he wants.

Because that’s the only prize left for getting Dominic on his back anymore.

------------

“Close your eyes,” Billy whispers, and Dominic obeys with a groan and another twist of his body. Billy unwraps his hands from Dominic’s wrists, scraping his fingers down Dominic’s forearms as he inches backward.

Billy’s careful to slide down Dominic’s body with enough pressure to make Dominic cry out, but not enough to unsettle himself. It takes no time at all to reach with one hand for the camera and with the other for Dominic’s cock, hard and trapped inside half–opened jeans.

Billy watches Dominic’s face flush above him, and smiles for what might be the hundredth time today.

------------

Dominic makes no sound as Billy yanks at the denim, and only gasps when Billy’s fingers encircle his cock firmly and with a knowledge Billy shouldn’t quite have. But Billy hasn’t requested silence, hasn’t demanded it, and however much he’s enjoyed Dominic’s relative quiet today, now is not the time for that. Quiet means peace to Billy, and he won’t find that until he has what he’s wanted for months: that perfect shot.

Billy turns his wrist and flicks his thumb over the head of Dominic’s cock, and finds that Dominic’s silence has always been a temporary thing at best.

------------

Dominic is sighing again, whispering words of strange devotion Billy chooses to ignore, just as he did the reflections of everyone who’s had Dominic here in New Zealand, everyone who has ever taken what Billy has suddenly decided has always belonged to him.

Billy knows that he’s meant to feel better about Dominic’s behaviour now that Dominic’s confessed the truth behind it. But to do so requires a nobility Billy just does not have right now, and likely never will. You can pretend, he thinks, staring at Dominic’s closed eyes and open lips. That was never an option for me.

------------

Billy descends further, breathing warm and soft on Dominic’s cock. His tongue darts out over the slit, and Dominic cries out again, some half–choked variation of Billy’s name that would please Billy enormously were he not so distracted by something darker.

Billy’s eyes flit up to Dominic’s face again as he takes Dominic in deeper, so relaxed it surprises them both. Billy swallows around Dominic’s length gently, slowly, feeling Dominic’s thighs begin to tremble. He’s so close Billy can smell it, can taste it—

And Billy pulls away harshly, his free hand curling around the camera one last time.

------------

“Billy,” Dominic gasps, his eyes flying open. Billy’s never seen a more perfect sight, never seen eyes so wild and blue, never seen lips so lush, never seen Dominic so thoroughly taken in or by anything—in or by anyone.

The flash is unnervingly bright, so much that it makes Billy flinch, but Dominic is too far gone to do anything more than stare as Billy takes shot after shot of him this way. It’s only when Billy finally lowers the camera and falls upon him again that Dominic reacts, smacking at Billy’s arms and chest with a compressed fury.

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Billy hears nothing now but his own breathless apology, whispered over and over again into Dominic’s skin. It takes long minutes, but Dominic finally relents, flipping Billy to his back and taking him hard, giving him what he thought he could capture in a photograph—what he thought he could capture, full stop.

It’s bitter and harsh, and Billy knows he deserves every raw, needy second of it. But Billy also knows that the fear and pain will disappear upon developing, and therefore hold no power over the finished portrait.

Billy has his prize now, and it tastes of ashes.


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