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Title: Promises in the Dark
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: NC-17, tcha.
Disclaimer: the truth is not in here.
Summary/Notes: Present #2 for strawberryelfsp: A bit of Dom/Billy angst. Because we all know I can’t bring the happeh. Set during and after the Master and Commander premiere in London.

I.
Dominic can almost count the minutes before he knows that Billy will jump up from his seat and escape the premiere.

It is part of Billy’s routine, after all, and Dominic knows that routine well: walk the carpet (nervously, his hands clenching into little fists for the first several seconds), smile for photographs (at least two will capture Billy’s smile slipping, his eyes darting to the ground, and a few more will find his eyes slipping to half–mast, sleepy and beautiful, but also deadly), sign the odd autograph (Billy always signs whatever is put in front of him, from caricatures to candy wrappers), speak to whoever asks about the dress kilt and why he wears it (but not anymore about what is or isn’t underneath it), disappear into the cinema lobby and down two drinks before anyone notices.

Well, anyone but Dominic at any rate.

It’s only taken almost forty premieres, all over the world, for Dominic to gain this knowledge, and it will take another forty before he tires of watching Billy at work. His best friend, a man almost ten years his senior, is a consummate professional during these things, but lately, there’s been something different about Billy, something Dominic is still measuring, walking around, testing.

Billy is tired.

That much is obvious. Alright, yes, Billy does sleep, and quite a lot, actually, but it never seems to be enough. He’s up far too early for Dominic’s taste, but he never looks all that properly rested. Billy’s been working consistently almost since the day he returned home to Scotland after principal filming. Certainly, he’s had a few months off here and there, but he’s always working on something even while on holiday: the script, his next project, charity work, promoting random things, and—when his energy allows—meeting and greeting his fans. It is as if Billy is trying to combat his natural laziness—which has only really manifested itself, interestingly enough, since he’s begun to make a little money and have more time to sleep—by jamming his schedule full of small things and large, ignoring the havoc it’s causing his body.

Billy is hiding something.

This is less obvious. Dominic knows almost everything there is to know about Billy, and it stings a bit to know there may be something Billy’s kept—no, keeping; Dominic won’t accept that Billy’s held his secret, whatever it is, for long—from him. But Dominic can’t dwell on it now, not when Billy is less than a hundred feet from him, his shoulders tense, his whole body set to run from the inside of the theatre.

Dominic can wait him out.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, and half into an interesting, possibly pivotal scene, Billy shoots up from his seat and makes his quick way across his aisle. No one bats at eye at this display—they are accustomed to people running in and out during premieres, and hardly anyone would recognize Billy in the dark anyway.

Hardly anyone but Dominic.

Dominic slumps a bit in his seat, waiting for Billy to pass on his way out of the darkened theatre. Even in the darkness, he can see that Billy is terribly unhappy; his pace is hurried and uneven, his expression blank. Dominic can barely count out the fifteen seconds’ head start he planned to give Billy, but he manages to do it, spinning out of his own seat only when it’s time.

Dominic makes sure the theatre doors don’t close too loudly behind him, and then he scans the lobby, searching for blond hair and a black kilt, neither of which can be found. Dominic crosses the tiled floor and enters the men’s room, going so far as to peek under stalls in case Billy is sitting up on a toilet tank, enjoying an illicit smoke of something Dominic would really like to share. But no, there is no Billy to be found there, either.

And then it occurs to Dominic what Billy might be doing. He remembers doing the same thing during the one Two Towers premiere that Billy did not attend—the one night when he should have been there, and Dominic had felt weighed down enough by loneliness—and the fact that he’d been called Pippin by two reporters—that he’d slipped from the main theatre himself and hid upstairs in the balcony.

Dominic climbs the stairs slowly, wondering what he should do if he does find Billy hiding, and what he will do if Billy’s not there after all. The theatre is in the middle of Leicester Square, for Christ’s sake, and Billy could be anywhere by now. But Dominic wants to believe that he’s right, that Billy will be exactly where Dominic imagines him—leaning on the edge of the empty balcony, looking down at the crowd below, his arms wrapped tight around himself.

It doesn’t come as much of a shock for Dominic to find out that he’s right.

Billy is backlit by his own face and body, messy and scarred, clad in white and black, staring out and nodding to commands from Captain Aubrey. When the camera pulls away into another shot, Billy’s shoulders relax, and Dominic finds his chance.

He walks down the stairs silently, not wishing to upset or startle Billy, and stops just behind him. Billy is indulging his bad habit of mouthing the dialogue of the film, sometimes seconds before the actor says the words themselves, and Dominic can barely hold in a laugh at Billy’s whispered impressions of Paul Bettany. He will have to remember to ask for more later—if there is a later.

Dominic continues to wait, and is relieved when a storm scene begins and the theatre is filled with the noise of waves and men screaming directions to each other across the badly bruised HMS Surprise. It is time, now, for Dominic to make his presence known.

He takes another step, until he is directly behind Billy, and he rests his palms on Billy’s shoulders gently. Billy jumps and makes to turn, to discover who has discovered him, but Dominic holds him firm, forcing his gaze back out into the theatre and at the screen.

“Tell me what you see,” Dominic whispers in Billy’s ear, and Billy shivers.

“I don’t—a movie, Dom. What are you—”

“What do you see, Billy? Because you can’t see yourself, and you won’t see me. So tell me.”

Billy’s shoulders drop, and his breath comes out ragged. “I can’t talk to you. Not here.”

“Can’t talk to me?” Dominic spins Billy around to face him, and his hands wrap around Billy’s arms, almost shaking him as Dominic speaks. “What happened, Billy? What is going on?”

Billy struggles in Dominic’s grip, his face twisting in irritation. “Leave off. Get off me.”

“No.” Dominic tightens his hold, grateful for his newfound strength. Two months ago, Billy could have left him unconscious on the floor with one well–placed kick, but now Dominic knows at least half the tricks Billy does. “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen you in two weeks, you won’t take my calls, you tell me not to come here tonight, and now you won’t even look at me, Billy. Fucking Prince Charlie got more eye contact than I’m getting right now.”

“That what you want?” Billy spits out. “Eye contact? Become a photographer, Dom.”

“Will it make you look at me?” Dominic returns, just as heatedly. “Do I have to hold a camera to see your eyes? A microphone so I can hear your voice?” Dominic loosens his grip slightly when Billy winces, but does not release him. “I watched you down there on the carpet. Before you went in. I saw you go from beautiful to bastard just like that, Billy. Zero to fucking sixty. You hate every minute of this, and you’re sad and you’re tired and—why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Help me?” The words come out of Billy’s throat strangled and tight. “Be honest, Dom. You’re here for the free drink, not to help me.”

And then it happens. Dominic reacts, letting fly with one well–aimed punch, and Billy falls, shocked, to the carpet, one hand already pressed against his jaw. Dominic remains standing, arms crossed around his chest now, eyebrows raised as he stares down at his best friend.

“Do you want to fight?” Dominic asks softly. “We can do that, you know. I think we’re just about equally matched, except you’re in a kilt and have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“You sick little fuck,” Billy hisses, turning to rise. “Should have you fucking taken away—”

Dominic drops to the floor in a heap, one hand back on Billy’s shoulders, keeping him down, the other cupping Billy’s chin, forcing him to look up.

“Talk to me,” Dominic whispers. “Please.”

Billy sags against the cushioned barrier of the balcony, and closes his eyes for a long, agonizing moment before he finally nods.

II.
Dominic’s not quite sure why Billy eventually agreed to stand and walk with him, out of the theatre and into the pleasantly cool London night. It’s true that Billy found a side exit from the theatre, and therefore they made their escape unnoticed and unrecognized, but now they find themselves outside, and Dominic is unsure what to do next.

Billy, however, seems to have an idea.

He walks, and Dominic follows, for less than two minutes before they are at the door of the Pastoria hotel, a rather small establishment, certainly nothing Dominic expected Billy to choose for a night’s rest, but so close to the Odeon that Dominic can understand why he did. Billy’s never been that interested in the extravagance of hotel rooms—he just wants a good bed and better room service.

Now, though, Dominic can appreciate what Billy’s found in this little hotel. No one bats an eye as they make their slow way to the elevator, and the moments its doors shut, Billy sags again, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. Dominic takes the opportunity to look at Billy, really look at him, and he is not encouraged by what he sees. Billy’s face is thin, blotchy now in the unforgiving light, and shadowed in a way Dominic’s never seen before. It’s disturbing, especially when Dominic knows that two months ago, Billy was sporting the wee double chin that so haunted him in New Zealand. That’s gone now, and in its stead now there are new lines, a touch of stubble and razor burn, and—marks.

Yes, Dominic had seen the pictures from the European MTV thing. He and Elijah had had a good laugh over Billy’s quite–freshly–fucked appearance, especially because not 24 hours previous to the awards show, Billy had spent the evening drinking and laughing with them in a New York bar, and while Dominic had no real memory of the rest of the night, Elijah had merely pointed at Billy’s roughed–up face on the television screen the next day and murmured something about how well Billy had done for himself while they hadn’t been looking.

But now, seeing the same marks, only just slightly less vivid beneath the collar of Billy’s dress shirt and smudged somewhat high on his cheekbone, Dominic feels something rise up inside him—something that makes him feel as sad and tired as Billy looks. He knows now—remembers—and Dominic has to close his own eyes to keep from speaking, screaming.

The elevator door opens, and Billy moves robotically down the hallway, not even beckoning Dominic to follow him or looking to see if he obeys. Which of course he does anyway, needing to talk even more now that he no longer wants to. They enter Billy’s room silently, and Billy gestures vaguely at the bed before he goes into the bathroom. Dominic sits and waits, loosening his tie and shucking his jacket as he listens to the water run, and the images in his head, the memories, begin to overcome him.

He doesn’t want to wait for Billy. He needs to be with him this very second, and no bathroom door could ever stop him.

“Dom, what—”

Dominic takes Billy’s flushed face in his hands, pressing his lips gently against Billy’s before his eyes open, locking into Billy’s confused gaze. “I’m sorry,” Dominic whispers. His lips brushing Billy’s as he speaks, and when Billy swallows in response, Dominic feels it, feels like Billy is taking the air out of his lungs and keeping it for his own. “I know you didn’t want him.”

“Dom, I can’t talk about it ...” Billy’s eyes fall to the tiled floor. “We were drunk, it was stupid, and you ... I just ...”

“Billy, I’m so, so sorry.” Dominic’s hands travel up Billy’s cheekbones and into his hair, massaging Billy’s temples the way Dominic knows Billy loves, and again he is grateful for all this stored knowledge of Billy. Billy relaxes almost instantly in Dominic’s hands, and Dominic breathes a little easier. “It was fucking ridiculous and selfish and I can’t believe you didn’t beat the shit out of both of us for even suggesting it.”

“But I wanted to know,” Billy whispers, cutting off Dominic’s train of thought. “I had to see if, if you were really—if you did still care for him, Dom, I couldn’t just—I would never—”

“I know,” Dominic nods. “But you trusted us, right? And we fucked it up, like we do everything else. Everyone else. Including ourselves, Bill. Elijah and I, we’re—we’re not good together. We’re destructive, yeah? I mean, it’s good for a while, but then it gets ... to be too much, and we push it, man. We really have tried to fucking kill each other, and it’s not good when it’s like that. You have to know I don’t, I mean, I wouldn’t, not to you, Billy ...”

“So what now, then?” Billy asks, calmer now and staring into Dominic eyes. “It’s just a few bites and scratches, Dom. I’ve had worse, and begged for more. I’ve pushed for more, and pushed back, too. I’ve probably done a lot more damage in my life than you ever have in yours, and I don’t regret any of it. But it’s not what I need right now, d’you understand?”

Billy runs one hand along Dominic’s collar, tracing his fingers inside the crisp shirt fabric before he reaches for Dominic’s tie, pulling it away. Billy lowers his lips to Dominic’s throat and curls his fingers under his jaw, pressing lightly as he speaks, his voice gone deeper, throatier. “And I don’t want that boy, Dom. I won’t have him. Even six bottles down, I didn’t let him fuck me.” Dominic tenses when Billy’s teeth graze along his jaw and his hands drop to Dominic’s waist. “And after I had you, I didn’t let him fuck you either.”

“What—”

“Didn’t tell you that part, did he?” Billy smiles, and Dominic feels it against his skin long before he sees it cross Billy’s sweet face. “I’ll have to ask him why in December.”

"But I thought—"

“You thought right,” Billy sighs, reaching now for the buttons of Dominic’s shirt. “We fought like animals that night, fucked like them, too. But you both fall drunk and stupid long before I do, you know that, and I wanted to see what you’d do. I didn’t like it, Dom.” Billy looks up from his work and raises his eyebrows, making sure Dominic is still listening. “Not a bit. Don’t get me wrong—you’re entertaining as hell, and almost as good a fuck drunk as you are sober—but I didn’t like what you were letting Elijah do to you, so I stopped it.”

“How—” Dominic’s words are cut off by his own gasp when Billy’s hand drops to his belt, flicking it open and allowing Billy the access he wants to cup Dominic inside the striped black trousers.

“I thought you wanted me to talk ...” Billy murmurs. “Or would you prefer to go back to fighting?”

Dominic moans, soft and shaky, as Billy’s hand, so familiar and friendly, works him to full hardness. Dominic’s hands crawl inside the thick, beautiful lining of Billy’s jacket, searching for warmth, for skin Dominic knows is still trapped under two more layers of vest and shirt. “Billy, let me, let me.”

“Let you do what?” Billy laughs, twisting his hand slightly, feeling Dominic’s cock twitch in his palm. “Let you touch me? So I end up scratched and bruised again, caught between your dick and Elijah’s hold on it, Dom? I don’t think so.” His voice is teasing, controlled, but Dominic can feel the anger simmering underneath the words, and, even further below, the sadness. Billy is more than physically tired by his schedule and the demands on his time—he’s exhausted by Dominic’s own refusal to see what’s being offered to him: Billy’s body, potentially his heart, certainly his complete attention, and for more than just tonight.

“I won’t—I’ll make it good,” Dominic whispers, the words tumbling from him. “I’ll fix it, Billy. I can do anything. Anything you want—”

“What makes you think I want you now, Dom?” Billy asks, eyes soft but voice still serene, placid. “I know where you’ve been. I know that a little boy seems to satisfy you, destructive or not. I know what you like, what you beg for. I know what you did to me two weeks ago. Sometimes, Dom ...” Billy moves closer, breathing in Dominic’s ear. “Sometimes I still feel it. But that doesn’t mean I want it again.”

“Not that,” Dominic pants, pushing up into Billy’s hand. “Let me show you—”

Billy makes an approving noise, and his hand slips out of Dominic’s trousers. Dominic hisses at the loss, and more at the little flick of Billy’s thumb against the head of his cock as he pulls away, but even then he is surprised when Billy turns away from him to face the mirror, turning on the faucets at the sink.

“Go and make yourself ready, Dominic,” Billy rasps, and again, he does not look to see if Dominic obeys.

III.
Dominic stands in the middle of the bedroom, his hands moving restlessly over his body. He knows Billy meant more than just take off your clothes, in fact meant nothing like that at all, and it sends another thrill up Dominic’s spine that he recognizes this, too. No, Billy wants him to prepare himself in a different way—to erase any images still playing in his mind of that night two weeks ago when he fucked Billy so hard he could barely move himself afterward, and had no time or energy to think about how Billy felt. But that, of course, was after Billy had fucked him, thoroughly but not brutally, and Dominic had had no idea what Billy wanted—so he did what he knew best, from his time with Elijah.

A mistake, he knows now.

Dominic peers at his own reflection in the bedroom mirror as he waits for Billy, and his hands travel to his neck, his chest, where there are vivid reminders of what he has done with Elijah, and now with Billy, too. A bruise is already blooming where Billy’s teeth sank into the skin below his left ear. He stands there, staring, until Billy circles around him, startling him from his reverie. Billy leans against the dresser, bracing himself against the edge of the drawers and he nods politely to Dominic.

“On the bed. On your back.” Billy says softly. Dominic moves slowly, settling into the mattress, calming his thoughts and relaxing his body, ready for almost anything Billy decides to do to him. Whatever it is, it will be worth it, Dominic decides. Whatever it is, he will make it good.

“This shirt,” Billy smiles, spreading Dominic’s shirt open fully and letting it fall to his sides on the bed. “You wore this in LA ... for Two Towers ... and then I wore it to the MTV movies thing ... it smelled of you, Dom, of you and laundry soap and fucked up homeopathic cologne or whatever you borrow from that boy ... I made sure it smelled of me after that, and that’s why you wore it tonight, isn’t it?” Billy does not wait to see or hear Dominic’s shattered, over–affirmative reply before his hands are pulling slowly at Dominic’s trousers, tugging them off with a little grunt.

“Look at you,” Billy murmurs, stroking Dominic’s thighs. “You must think you’re terribly strong now, yeah? All that yoga, all the martial art. But y’still don’t have the discipline, Dom. Your first reaction is still to use your fists, and that’s a fucking shame when you’ve got this perfect body under control, don’t you? And all that inner peace you’re supposed to have now?”

Dominic swallows, letting Billy’s words fall around him. They are gently spoken, but full of Billy’s disappointment, disappointment that extends far beyond Dominic’s relationship with Elijah, beyond even Dominic’s decision to live in Los Angeles. Dominic knows he should just let Billy talk, let him get it out of his system, but it’s not in Dominic’s nature to be quiet, even when it’s in his best interest to do so.

“This, coming from you ...” Dominic laughs, watching Billy unbuckle the sporran and remove his jacket and vest. Billy’s eyes narrow as he loosens the cuffs on his shirtsleeves, but he says nothing. “You of the never sleepless nights ... I’d never known you to lie before, Bill, and the moment I saw that in print, I had to laugh. And then I wanted to shake the shit out of you for lying, when you’re the only one of us who ever told the truth. Where’s your honesty now? Where’s that discipline—”

“In Elijah’s bed,” Billy says, as calm as before. “I left it there after I fucked you both in the space of an hour and a half. Honesty tastes rancid after you lose yourself to a lie. To a liar. To two of them.”

Dominic sits up in the bed, furious. “We never lied to you—”

“You lied to each other.” Billy shoves Dominic back down, and the anger flashes in his eyes before he settles back down. “Almost as much as you lied to me. How many times did you tell me you weren’t going back, Dom? How many times did he tell you he didn’t want you? How many times did you tell him you did want him? Everything’s a lie between you and Elijah, and it makes me ill that it’s rubbed off on me with the scent of both of you. I can’t fucking shake it now.”

Dominic watches Billy remove the kilt and the dress shirt, until he is finally naked, finally crawling up the bed to loom over Dominic, part lover, part friend. Dominic wants badly to reach up and touch him, but he waits, knowing there is more to come. Billy’s hands rest at Dominic’s sides, and he stares down at Dominic, trying to make the words come out.

“I am so sick of it, Dommie,” Billy whispers. “So this is it. This is the last time we’re going to do this. Because you don’t have the discipline and I, I don’t have the strength to watch you with him, to watch you do this to yourself. We’re going to do this now, and it’s going to be the best we’ve ever had, and you’re going to promise me that come morning you will not be in my bed.”

“Billy, no ...” Dominic gasps. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Billy nods. “As much as I mean anything else I say, but for the lies, Dommie. Promise me.”

“No, fucking no—”

“Then get up and leave now, because I won’t have you otherwise.”

“Billy—”

“Promise me,” Billy hisses. It is a desperate sound, and it rushes between them to burn Dominic’s ears, his skin, his eyes, until he finds himself crying and nodding. “D’you promise, Dommie?”

“Yes,” Dominic cries, smacking at Billy’s chest. Billy releases a heavy breath, and he catches Dominic’s hands and presses them back down before he descends on Dominic, his hands and mouth falling gently all over the shaking body beneath him. Dominic remembers this from the early days, the fifth month in New Zealand, when he first discovered what an amazing lover Billy could be when he felt comfortable and in control and in—in love, Dominic recalls. Dominic looks down at Billy, already running his lips across Dominic’s hipbone, and again he knows, he recognizes that Billy is still in love with him, despite all the name–calling, the fighting, the disappointment and the venom Billy carries like blood in his veins now. There is still too much love there to ignore, and Dominic will find it and not let go until Billy forces him to do so.

He reaches down, grabs Billy’s arms and pulls him up, silencing Billy’s surprised grunt with one of the softest but most demanding kisses he’s ever given Billy, and Billy goes just a little liquid in his grip, so different from hours ago back in the Odeon, when he struggled and twisted to get free. He turns them, flipping Billy to his back before he can fight it, and it is Dominic’s turn to be surprised when Billy releases contented, relieved sigh. He stills above Billy, looking down into those green eyes that have gone half–mast again, more beautiful than they will ever appear in tomorrow’s pictures.

“Billy, what—”

“Fuck me,” Billy whispers, his eyes falling shut. “Just fuck me, Dominic.”

“Oh, god,” Dominic sighs. “Yes. Yes, Billy, fucking yes.” Dominic leans down over Billy now, grinding their hips together so their cocks meet, and the friction makes Dominic suck in air between his teeth before he kisses Billy, hard this time, and Billy arches up, wanting more. “Fuck, Billy—”

“Hurry, Dom—”

“No, no, want to make it last—”

“It can’t—” Billy growls, and Dominic pushes down hard, rolling his hips in a slow circles while Billy’s breath falls short.

“It can,” Dominic says softly. “It will.”

The words seem to break something in Billy, and he surrenders, his body relaxing and his heart slowing to match Dominic’s pace. Dominic wants to savour this, especially if it’s the last time he’ll ever see Billy fly apart so wonderfully as he always does when he comes. But Dominic’s mind is already working—he will do everything in his power to ensure that is not the last time.

Dominic lets his hand move slowly between them, taking both their cocks and moving them together gently at first, then harder, faster. Billy’s eyes open wide and dark, and his hands tear into Dominic’s hair while his mouth forms silent words of pleasure and praise for his lover who knows him so well.

“It’s alright,” Dominic whispers. “For you, Billy, this is for you. Only you now. Love you too fucking much to just let you go just like that. You’re not ... you’re not thinking right now, that’s all it is. You’re tired, and you need a break. But not from this ...” Dominic voice shatters, and he kisses Billy’s fingers before his own find Billy, stretching him carefully. “Not from me, Billy. Never from me.”

Dominic lets the silence lead him then, for once, and he plays his fingers gently inside Billy, watching Billy’s face for the telltale flush that serves as warning and wish at the same time. Dominic catches it even in the darkness, and before Billy can even beg him to move, Dominic is inside him, moving slow but certain into Billy’s body. Billy’s head falls back into the pillow, and he cries out—something he’s never done before, and Dominic wonders for half a second if he’s hurt Billy, if he’s fucked everything up yet again—but then he sees Billy’s reaction for what it is: more catharsis than anything else. More bending to pleasure than breaking in fear.

It doesn’t take long, for all Dominic wants it to. He cannot wait once Billy has relaxed again, and he runs a shaking hand up and down Billy’s cock while he thrusts, his own breathing rattling in his lungs while he moves. He can manage only the briefest of kisses, and only when Billy pulls him down for them.

Billy’s body tenses suddenly, and Dominic pushes hard, harder than before, waiting for Billy’s shout, which comes out louder than Dominic’s ever heard it. The sound is enough to make him come violently, his hips moving of their own volition, shoving into Billy even as he gasps and trembles in his little aftershocks. It’s an incredible sight to behold, and Dominic takes what little time he has to appreciate it before his own eyes close tight and his body shakes feverishly. When it is over, he collapses onto Billy’s chest, breathing hard, and he barely notices Billy’s hands running through his sweaty hair.

They rest, then, quiet and sated. But the air is still so thick between them that they cannot speak—and for that, they are both grateful. Dominic moves to clean up, but Billy holds him firm, keeping him still, and Dominic loses the will to even nudge back. He is happy to sleep now.

But six hours later, Dominic finds himself in nearly the same position, and everything rushes back at once. Billy’s anger, their fight, the lovemaking, the exhausted aftermath—and the promise.

Sunlight has not yet begun to streak through the grey sky and into the windows of Billy’s little hotel room. Dominic determines that this cannot yet count as morning, and so he moves to the edge of the bed, reaching for the television remote control and settling on the channel he knows will carry what he wants to see. He waits for it, taking a pair of boxers from Billy’s suitcase and sliding them on before he replaces his own shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and hanging on his body. Dominic even manages to brush his teeth and hair and resettle in the small armchair near the television before he sees it.

A random blonde entertainment reporter smiles at him through the screen, and it is hard for Dominic to resist smiling back. The reporter turns to last night’s red carpet ceremonies, introducing her segment before the parade of video clips and soundbites. The Prince of Wales appears, as does Russell Crowe, as do Paul and Jennifer in their pale glory. And then there is Billy, afforded two sentence and a smile, and a cheeky grin aimed at the television audience before he turns back to the reporter, serious once more about the film, about his role. Dominic relishes the performance and smiles, remembering that he has set his recorder to tape this very program to he can watch Billy do this little dance whenever it pleases him.

There is a noise from the bed, and Dominic turns in the chair to see Billy, stretching and sighing, and blinking at the grey dawn. Billy takes a breath when he sees Dominic, and the words fly from him, splintered with sleep.

“Dominic, you promised—”

“I’m not in your bed,” Dominic says softly.

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