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Title: Storms
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: NC–17
Summary: Hey ho, with the wind and the rain ...
Disclaimer: so verreh not mine.
Author’s Note: for trickytwink and thalassatx, who wanted a story and a storm.


I.
The house is always dark. If Dominic gets there first, he lights candles, because he loves the scent of sandalwood and bergamot and the way they amplify the scent of Billy—the scent of experience, the scent of lust tempered by love. There’s also the glow of Billy’s eyes in candlelight, a glow that is all warmth, all want.

When Billy gets there first, he opens all the windows, because he wants to accentuate the scent of Dominic with the pull of the sea, the sound of water crashing, lapping, roaring the same way Dominic does in bed. There’s also the way the moonlight plays on Dominic’s tanned skin, warmed under Billy’s long fingers.

Tonight, it’s Dominic’s turn, and the candles have been lit for half an hour. He walks around the house, checking the wicks and moving the candles from drafts, shielding the flames with his hand as he pads around barefoot.

It’s hot tonight, Dominic thinks, and he presses a hand against the glass doors that lead outside, to the water. He’s tempted by the cool blue possibilities of that water, but he knows how disappointed Billy would be if he went out there by himself.

And there is a storm coming, anyway, a storm that will cut the moist heat. He and Billy will neither swim nor surf tonight.

Dominic tries not to think too hard about storms. He’s never been a fan of standing outside in the rain, “frolicking,” or whatever the hell Orlando called it the other day. He’ll never understand the lure of watching rain fall or hearing thunder roar.

Dominic was born on a bright, strangely warm December day, and from that he’s decided that he was always meant to be in the sun, to be bathed in light and dry warmth.

Dominic ambles back into kitchen of the little guest house, making pouty–mouth faces, pretending to whistle. He rifles through the contents of the refrigerator, considering what he should prepare for their dinner—and what will be edible if the power goes out in the storm and they left with only the candlelight and a can opener.

But Dominic’s easily distracted, and after one glass of beer and a few minutes’ rough chopping at two yellow peppers, he’s pacing again, checking the candles and waiting, still waiting for Billy to arrive.

Before he knows it, he’s pressed his forehead against the glass door, biting his bottom lip and rolling his teeth across its underside in a pale imitation of what Billy can do, running his hands up and down his thighs, keeping himself calm, ready. Billy will be here soon, and his hands, so different from Dominic’s own, will be all over Dominic’s body, pulling, pushing, taking, giving.

He can hear movement in the kitchen, movement that he knows is Billy. A shiver runs up Dominic’s back and neck, and he smiles, recognizing this happy weakness for what it is and what it means. He’s barely turned back the front room when Billy’s sweet face appears around the corner.

“Dom ...” he says softly, and Dominic crosses the distance between them in five long strides. He holds Billy’s face in his hands and kisses him damply. Steam seems to rise between them as the cool, calm ease of Billy meets the moist, desperate need of Dominic.

“Dom, Dommie,” Billy whispers, hands kneading Dominic’s back gently, like little cat’s paws. Dominic retreats, mouth still wet and open, and raises his eyes with some effort. Billy smiles, acknowledging Dominic’s desire but not quite as ready himself. “I’ve got to eat or I’ll fall over.”

“Not. Hungry.” Dominic pouts, and Billy laughs, trying in vain to hold him back at arm’s length.

“Not. Caring.” Billy winds one arm around Dominic’s waist, under the ratty cotton shirt, and runs tidy fingernails across the skin there. Dominic gasps and pulls Billy in once more. Billy fights it, then rolls his eyes and allows Dominic one more kiss.

“Enough,” Billy murmurs.

“Fucking hobbit,” Dominic laughs. “It’s always food, innit?”

“No,” Billy shakes his head, face drawn and serious. “Sometimes it’s drink.”

“Bastard.” Dominic pushes Billy back toward the kitchen.

There is a deep, eerie roll of thunder outside, and Dominic pales, spinning back into the front room to peer at the glass doors. As if in response, one of Dominic’s cherished candles gutters out, hissing and cracking, and Dominic jumps at the noise. His eyes, when Billy catches them, are filled with a watery mix of terror and curiosity.

Billy is suddenly quite inspired.


II.

Dominic blushes under Billy’s strange, soft attention, and walks by him into the kitchen. He’s been caught, and they both know it. Billy says nothing, but it’s blatantly obvious, and Dominic feels like a child.

But there is still dinner. In the kitchen, Dominic finds his feet. Billy cannot cook to save anyone’s life, much less his own, but Dominic can produce a meal fit for a French chef when given space and time and an appreciative audience. And appreciative wouldn’t begin to describe Billy’s little moans and gleeful wiggles as he eats whatever Dominic puts in front of him.

Dominic moves one of his candles away from its perch on the kitchen counter, placing it carefully on the kitchen table a few inches from Billy’s elbow. Billy nods and checks the wick, as Dominic’s instructed him to do every half hour, on the dot.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have these all lit tonight, Dommie ...” Billy says softly, and Dominic turns with a little jerk to his hips.

“Why?”

“What if ...” and here Billy pauses, running one hand over the flame, warming his palm. “What if the power goes? And we’ve wasted the candles?”

“That won’t happen.” It tumbles from Dominic’s mouth too quickly, and Billy nods solemnly.

“No, of course ...”

“It won’t.” Dominic’s turned fully now, staring Billy down.

Billy looks behind and around Dominic at the stove. “Think that’s about done?”

True to form, Billy does a graceful approximation of what Elijah once called a Snoopy dance in his chair as he devours Dominic’s chicken, chorizo and white beans. Dominic himself sits back, taking his time with the food and enjoying more of the wine Billy’s poured.

There’s something different tonight, Dominic thinks, and not all of it can or should be attributed to the approaching storm. It is indeed approaching—Dominic can hear thunder over the roof, can hear the waves outside becoming more fretful and rolling—but there are storms of an altogether different kind rolling in Dominic’s stomach and in Billy’s bright eyes.

“Dommie.” Billy’s fork clinks on the plate, and Dominic jumps again, rolling his own eyes in irritation before Billy has the chance to do so himself.

“You’re barely eating. Don’t think I haven’t noticed—” Dominic interrupts Billy’s little Sam–speech, throwing his napkin square in Billy’s face.

“Not. Hungry.” Dominic repeats petulantly, rising from the table. Billy stays seated, calmly finishing his dinner. He knows Dominic is back at the glass doors, back in his storm–tossed, storm–terrified little world.

Billy has no plans to change Dominic’s mind about storms, at least not right away. Tonight he wants something different, something deeper. But for now, he’ll allow Dominic his fears. Because how else can Billy soothe Dominic’s scars unless they’re visible on his skin?

Billy rolls the fat, round candleholder in between his palms as he thinks. This one is unscented—Dominic will accept no other kind in his kitchen, thank you—but its light and warmth make up for the loss of fragrance. He holds it gently as he rises, turning off the few remaining lights in the house as he makes his way back to the glass doors, back to Dominic.

The younger man leans against the wall, gazing out at the water and into the night. Billy thinks Dominic is achingly beautiful like this, half–shadowed and half–candlelit; his ruffian features shift into a kind of unfinished sculpture, clay that has yet to be fired into its final, pristine, glazed form.

Thunder rolls over the house once more, and the first lightning streaks across the sky. Dominic gasps, and his breath makes the candle in his own hands flicker, sputtering indignant light across Dominic’s face.

Billy is beside him, then, taking the candle from Dominic and placing it next to Billy’s on a shelf near the doors.

“Come with me ...” Billy breathes, his hands on Dominic’s face. “Come outside with me, Dommie.”

“Wh–why?” Dominic looks out the window, then back at Billy. He’s only partly feigning confusion, Billy knows, but Billy will play along. He rests his palms now on Dominic’s chest, the softest of touches, waiting for Dominic’s heartbeat to slow. “Billy, what—”

“D’you want this, Dommie?” Billy whispers, lips dancing across Dominic’s. Dominic moves to take more, and Billy inches back, maintaining his position. “D’you want me to take you outside? Have you on the rocks?”

Dominic inhales, waiting, and Billy runs his tongue smoothly over Dominic’s jaw, working back up to below his ear, to that spot that makes Dominic plunge his hands into Billy’s hair and pull. Billy smiles against Dominic’s skin at that familiar tug, and slowly—too slowly, if Dominic’s squirming and little noises are any indication—brings one hand to Dominic’s stomach, flicking open Dominic’s jeans and trailing three fingers into the coarse hair, the wet heat he finds there.

“Or d’you want to take me, Dom?” Billy’s voice pours over Dominic like the wine, and his eyes open slowly in response. “Have me on my knees in the sand or the waves?” Dominic tries once more to capture Billy’s lips, and Billy surrenders with the calm assurance of one who knows he has nothing to lose. Billy moves smoothly away when Dominic pauses for breath, and Dominic whines at the loss even as he knows Billy’s not finished.

“Want me on my back for you, Dommie?” Billy’s voice has gone dark and deep. Dominic yanks him forward, pulling their hips to meet, and thrills to Billy’s little moan. “Whatever you want, Dom ... whatever you want if you come with me ...”

Dominic trembles, looking over Billy’s shoulder at the rain lashing down on the beach. The waves are furious now, crashing in time to Billy’s breathing. Another streak of lightning skates across the sky, and Dominic reacts, pulling Billy into him so hard that they both stagger, crashing against the glass door. Dominic’s eyes catch the light, and Billy brings him even closer, one hand trapped in Dominic’s hair.

“It’s not fear anymore once you’ve faced it ...” Billy whispers. Dominic stares at him, eyes wide but trusting. “So brave, Dommie, you’re so brave ... you can throw yourself off a platform and into nothingness, but you fear a storm?”

“Stop,” Dominic pleads, but then Billy kisses him again, pulling at the hem of Dominic’s shirt until he comes over his head with a flourish.

“Come with me, Dom,” Billy repeats. Dominic is ready to agree to anything now, but the thunder claps loudly, and Dominic nearly climbs Billy’s little body in surprise. Billy shakes with mirth, and Dominic punches him soundly in the shoulder.

“Bastard—” Dominic hisses again. He is cut off once more by Billy’s mouth, and after another moment of pleasant torture, Dominic’s hand reaches for the door. Where he expects cold metal, he finds warm skin. Billy is already there, fingers wrapped around the handle.

“Ready?” Billy murmurs, eyes soft with desire now. Dominic manages to nod, and a smile creases Billy’s gentle face.

And Billy opens the door.


III.

Billy keeps one hand on Dominic’s arm as they walk outside, into the night and the rain and the wind. This is not the most powerful storm either of them has ever seen, but something about it has Dominic so tightly wound that Billy will do anything to help him, to uncoil Dominic and leave him quiet and safe and himself again.

Dominic is taking deep breaths, blinking against the rain in his eyes and his mouth. It feels wonderful on his warm skin, but he’s still not altogether pleased to be out here, even with Billy speaking gently beside him.

“See, Dom? See how perfect it is? You’re not going to ever feel like this in the sun .... The sun makes you strong, and sure of yourself and everyone else—makes you too comfortable.” Billy stops walking just as they reach the edge of the water, and kisses Dominic once more, just a breathy little pass of lips over lips. “It’s only in a storm that you’re unsettled, yes? But only when you’re rattled this way that you’ll really know yourself, Dommie. Only in a storm.”

“Billy ...” Dominic sighs before Billy’s tongue darts inside his waiting mouth. They play and tease and tangle in each other for minutes before Dominic ducks out of the kiss, pressing his forehead against Billy’s. “Billy, why are you doing this?”

“I like you rattled, Dommie ... I like you unsettled ...”

Dominic’s mouth falls open once more, and Billy plunges forward, hands gripping Dominic’s hips lightly, thumbs playing and pushing up against the jutting bones there. Dominic grinds up against Billy, a rushed, sweetly hitched breath slipping from him.

“Billy ... Billy, if you don’t touch me, I’m going to just take care of this myself—”

“You will not,” Billy whispers. His grip tightens, and Dominic unhesitatingly bites down above Billy’s collarbone in retort. Billy barely flinches, and Dominic feels rather than sees the smile Billy hides in the younger man’s hair.

“Rattled ...” Billy murmurs, and Dominic could kill him, just then. “Close your eyes now, Dominic, trust me ...”

“Billy, I can’t—”

“I’ll find something to cover them for you if you’d prefer ....” Billy bites back, only a bit more gently, and Dominic shivers. “Not fear, Dommie, not fear—”

“Once I face—oh Christ, Billy—” Dominic gasps as Billy’s hand reaches once more into his jeans, opening them fully to the air, to the rain, but also to the welcoming warmth of Billy’s agile fingers.

“Your eyes, Dominic ...”

Dominic closes them, after several fluttering, terrified tries, and Billy hums in approval. Billy’s free hand traces Dominic’s swollen lips while the other works him slowly. Dominic’s legs shift open, offering Billy more access, more freedom, more of anything Billy fucking wants, yes, and then suddenly Billy is gone, and Dominic cries out.

“Your eyes ...” Billy cautions from what sounds like at least twenty feet away.

“Billy, you fuck, don’t you do this to me—”

“Keep them closed,” Billy growls. Dominic clamps them shut, feeling his entire body shake with need and anger. When Billy allows it, he’s going to fuck him straight to the bottom of the ocean, fucking forget the rain, forget the storm, forget that a lightning strike in the middle of nowhere is not tops on Dominic’s Planned Ways to Die.

Dominic waits, quiet but still shaking, but he cannot hear Billy’s voice anymore. He cradles himself across his soaked chest, listening harder, but still there is nothing but the rain and the sound of the surf until—

The thunder cracks, booms directly above him, and Dominic releases what would have been a scream if he hadn’t caught it in time, butchified it into a roaring holyFUCKfuckBilly where are you!.

His eyes are open now, and he has no intention of closing them again until he finds Billy. Dominic’s jeans are tight and wet and disgusting now, and he’s beyond scared, beyond furious.

“You’re a dead man, Boyd, dead fucking dead to the known world if you don’t get out here—”

“Come find me ....” Billy’s voice is behind him, but when Dominic turns there is nothing, no one there. “Come find me, Dommie, and I’ll give you anything you want. Show me you know your way through this storm—”

“The fuck you think you’re doing, Billy?”

“Show me you know your way to me ...”

It comes to Dominic, then. Billy knows how to throw his voice, has known for years—even used the trick several times in New Zealand, causing havoc in Liv’s trailer and even freaking Elijah out to the point where Sean planned to call an exorcist out to Elijah’s little house.

“You little fuck,” Dominic hisses. When the flash of lightning comes, he barely notices it other than as a guide. Billy’s footprints are all over the wet sand, and Dominic trudges up their path, jeans askew and half off. Midway through the sand, he kicks them off. It’s not as if he can run, not in his condition, but every little obstacle on the way to fucking Billy into the next week is unnecessary and frustrating now.

Dominic swipes at his hair, falling wet and matted into his eyes, and keeps walking. He can almost smell Billy, smell the difference between the sea and the woody spice of Billy’s skin, and he knows he’s near. He turns around a raised section of beach, spotted with brush and warmer than the rest of the sand, and finds Billy there waiting, kneeling, his fingers tracing lines in the sand.

“Bastard,” Dominic growls for the last time tonight, and falls to his knees in front of Billy, pushing him down and into the kiss. Billy laughs when their teeth meet and bite, and Dominic reaches down to tear at Billy’s jeans.

“Off, get these off, get them fucking gone—”

“Mmm,” Billy nods, hands still in Dominic’s hair.

“You going to help me or lie there like a girl, Bill?” Dominic snaps, and the smile vanishes from Billy’s lips.

“Rattled ...” Billy whispers, and Dominic attacks.

Billy’s shirt is torn from him, and when their chests touch, Billy gasps. It is Dominic’s turn to smile, and he does so, broadly, kicking away Billy jeans. They are both naked now, and Billy’s legs fall open to receive Dominic’s bigger, stronger body. Dominic moves slowly—too slowly if Billy’s squirming and little noises are any indication—rising and falling and changing the rhythm on Billy too fast for him to keep up or anticipate anything.

The sounds coming from Billy’s throat are nothing Dominic’s ever heard before, and he chalks it up to the storm, to what the lightning and the thunder have brought out in both of them. Billy is rarely this much of a tease, and Dominic is rarely this much of a fighter. Still, Dominic knew hours ago that tonight would be different.

And different can be good.

Dominic slides his wet tongue down Billy’s already drenched body until he’s breathing warm over Billy’s cock. Billy arches up, sighing, begging without words, and Dominic dives down, taking Billy fast and hard. Billy’s eyes close, and his hand reaches for Dominic’s. Dominic knows from long and loving experience that Billy’s already close, so very very close, and this knowledge makes him wise in a way he hadn’t anticipated using this way, this night. Billy’s thighs tighten before he begins to shake, and Dominic pulls away, his free hand closing around Billy’s cock firmly. Billy stares, unable to speak, and Dominic waits until Billy’s eyes have completed focused on his predicament before he speaks.

“Rattled ...” Dominic whispers, and Billy bites his own lip in agony. Dominic takes his trapped hand from Billy’s with a yank, bringing three fingers to Billy’s mouth. Billy draws them in eagerly, swirling his expert tongue to wet them even more than necessary, until Dominic takes them back, working one, then two, inside Billy immediately.

Dominic loves being fucked by Billy, loves it more than most anything in this world, but fucking Billy is so different, so otherworldly he rarely asks for it, rarely wants it to be honest, because the aftermath usually shatters him completely—devastates him—and he much prefers to be conscious, aware and softly, sweetly tender in the long moments after he and Billy have done this.

Now, though, Dominic imagines he’ll get past all that, just as he’s gotten past his fear of this storm. Billy is crying, begging for more, and Dominic’s too far gone to prepare him further.

“Ready?” he gasps, and Billy nods, eyes still closed. He pushes forward and is shocked by how wild and willing Billy is like this. Billy’s strong thighs close around Dominic, pulling him closer, deeper, and Dominic breathes hard, trying to slow them both down, but Billy will have none of it.

“Jesus, Jesus, Dom, no, don’t do this, hurry, Dom—”

“Billy, please—”

Billy lets out an unearthly cry, bucking up hard, too hard, and Dominic plunges down in response. If a fight is what Billy wants, then it’s a fight he’ll get. It’s perfect, and so hot, and they’re drenched in rain and sweat and covered in sand, but it’s still perfect even so, and Dominic is delirious with pleasure. The lightning cracks and hisses above them, but Dominic doesn’t see, doesn’t hear the electric snap of it at all. Everything is Billy, and Billy’s fierce little mouth and flashing eyes and warm chest and sweet, salty skin.

Dominic loosens his grip on Billy’s cock only just enough to stroke him, bring him even closer, impossibly closer, and he can hear himself growling.

“Come with me, Bill, with me, now, come, anything you want, Billy—”

Billy’s face flushes and he very nearly howls, coming all over Dominic’s hand, and Dominic pushes, thrusts hard and deep and fast, keeping Billy tight and hot and all his in this storm. He leans down so their faces touch and pushes one last time, welcoming Billy’s last surge of energy as his whole body clenches on Dominic.

Dominic finally allows himself a scream, a long, throaty yell, and Billy revels in it, watching wide–eyed as Dominic comes. Dominic’s arms tremble violently before he falls on Billy, and Billy finds himself murmuring again, whispering soft words to calm Dominic even though he knows Dominic is not afraid.

Dominic breathes, eyes closed, against Billy’s sticky, sandy chest. In any fantasy, the rain would stop now, Dominic thinks, but here in sweet, messy reality it continues, leaving him and Billy nearly unrecognizable to anyone but each other.

“‘S not fear, Dommie,” Billy whispers.

“No.”

“So what is it?” Billy tugs at Dominic’s hair, bringing him to face Billy’s concerned eyes.

“Just a storm,” Dominic sighs. His lips rest on Billy’s for a moment. “Just a storm.”


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